The Dead Man in the Lab
by Sameuspegasus
Summary: There's a dead man in Booth's interrogation room, and he's having an argument with an angel of the Lord. AU Post Season 5 SPN.Gen, veering dangerously towards Dean/Cas.
1. Chapter 1

It was just an ordinary day, an ordinary case. Some unidentified human remains had been found in a park in the suburbs, dug up by a dog on an early morning run with its owner.

At 6:13am, Booth was woken up by the phone call. He collected Bones from her apartment, and they drove out to the site.

Bones had been up all night writing. Her publisher wanted religious symbolism and Christian history, or as Bones put it, 'lies and misconceptions' in the new book. Readers were turning away from thrillers with political commentary and valuable anthropological information and wanted something that touched on wider concerns. Apparently the bleeding skies and multitude of strange deaths of a few months ago had put the fear of God into the consumers. Bones objected to this request strongly and vocally for most of the trip out to the crime scene.

She was still talking about it as they ducked under the yellow tape.

"They want me to put _angels_ in it, Booth! _Angels_! Something for which there is no definitive proof at all!"

Booth was about to snap back that the point of religion was that you didn't need proof because you had _faith_, but the officers at the scene came to fill him in at that point, so he resolved to finish the discussion later. It was futile to argue religion with Bones anyway. She was unmovable.

The body had been dismembered, but all the parts were there except the mandible and a femur. Bones said the victim had been female, between late fifties to sixties, cause of death unknown until she could examine the bones more closely in the lab. Booth thought dismemberment would probably do it, but hoped there was a different cause that didn't involve being chopped up alive.

Back at the lab, the squints did their thing. Hodgins examined dirt and insects, and got very excited when he discovered something that put the time of death at almost exactly one year previous. Angela reconstructed the face, with several possible jaw lines. Cam examined something disgusting and squishy that she assured him was liver tissue, and ran DNA. Bones and Daisy X-rayed the bones.

Sweets came to get Booth and Bones for their session after lunch. Booth had been sort of hoping he'd forgotten. He had a lot of work to do, trying to discover the identity of the victim, and Sweets was definitely going to notice the tension between them since the conversation that morning.

Sweets did.

"I'm noticing some tension between the two of you," he said immediately. "Is everything ok?"

"Yes," Booth and Bones said simultaneously.

"If something's bothering you, you need to talk about it. Otherwise it festers, and you won't be able to operate effectively as a partnership," Sweets told them.

"We have a case," said Booth, standing up.

"Wait, Booth. I feel like you're avoiding this conversation. Did you have an argument?"

"Why do you always think we've had an argument? Booth is a very reasonable person. We have discussions, that's all."

"Oh, that was a discussion this morning? Because that's not what it felt like." Booth could feel his frustration rising.

"But _angels? _I understand that you believe in these things, Booth. I just don't understand why."

"Don't you ever want to believe that there is something out there that will help you if you're in trouble? Something that rewards people for living a good life and looking out for others? Someone to guide you in times of need?"

"I can help myself, Booth. And I have you. I don't need angels."

There was really nothing Booth could say to that.

XXXXXXXXXX

By late afternoon, they had narrowed the possible pool of missing persons down to three, the most likely being Gillian Sparrow, a school teacher who had gone missing from the area one year and two weeks ago. Cause of death had not been established, but Cam said that the alcohol content of the liver tissue was high enough that she had probably been unconscious at time of death.

Bones was frustrated. Booth could tell by the way her brow furrowed as she ran her gaze up and down the bones, commenting on cuts inflicted after death, and healed injuries, but not finding the cause of Mrs. Sparrow's demise. He dragged her away to get Chinese, eventually. If he hadn't, she would have been there all night.

As it turned out, it was lucky he did.

At 11pm, his phone rang. An intruder had been caught in the lab at the Jeffersonian, apprehended in the processes of desecrating the remains. He had been tackled just as he was about to set them on fire, and had put up a decent fight – not to escape, but to light the bones. Security had stopped him, but the remains had been covered in salt and doused in gasoline.

If Bones had been in the lab there would be a case of murder on her hands.

The intruder had been arrested and fingerprinted. He was waiting to be interrogated. The agent in charge was very insistent that Booth come immediately. The detainee had a history of violence and impressive escapes from custody.

Booth rang Bones. He wasn't sure he should. There was a good chance she would assault the suspect once she heard about the damage to the evidence. He called her anyway, though, because Bones hated being left out of interrogations, and maybe she could use some of her observations of the suspect to judge whether he would be capable of mutilating someone.

They handed him the file before he entered the interrogation room. He made the mistake of not opening it before he went in. It always looked more impressive when you opened the file in front of the suspect.

The man who sat on the other side of the desk looked tired. Tired, and sad, and lost. Defeated. He was handsome. Thirtyish. Vaguely familiar.

Booth opened the file. Underneath the mug shot, it said in large black letters: DEAN WINCHESTER. DECEASED.

Booth skimmed the file. Multiple counts of murder. Torture. Armed robbery. Weapons charges. Grave desecration. Escaping custody... The list went on. It included two reported deaths, including one in which the body had been left at the scene and positively identified as Dean by DNA evidence.

"You destroyed my evidence!" Bones began, angrily.

"I had to," said Dean, "But they stopped me and now more kids are going to die." It was quiet and matter of fact, but he did not look at them. That was unusual. Murder threats after arrest were usually a form of intimidation, spoken threateningly, with strong eye contact.

Booth skimmed more of the file, watching out of the corner of his eye to be sure Bones did not assault the suspect. Believed unstable. Narcissistic. Delusions of grandeur and the supernatural. Possible vigilante.

"So, Dean. I see here you've died twice," Booth began, "Care to explain that?"

Dean laughed. "Twice? Dude, I've died more than Buffy. They just keep bringing me back." The smile drifted away from his face without reaching his eyes. He laid his head on the table and closed his eyes.

Maybe they should have woken Sweets up for this.

And then there was someone else in the room. Booth was looking at the file, and Bones was glaring at Dean, who was pretending to sleep.

"Dean." A voice said quietly.

Bones shrieked. Booth let out a manly yell of surprise. A dark haired man in a trench coat stood behind Dean. Booth reached for his gun.

"Dean." The man repeated. Dean bolted upright and spun around, standing up with impressive speed.

"Where the hell have you been, Cas? How could you just leave me here alone?" Dean was yelling, standing very close to the man, who seemed totally unperturbed.

Booth pointed his gun. His hand was shaking. "Sit down!" He commanded. It came out less commanding and more shaky than he intended. Beside him, Bones was frozen in spot.

The words had no effect.

"I must speak with you, Dean." The trench-coated man said it quietly. Booth was not afraid of many people, but this man terrified him. There was a feeling of raw power around him. His coat seemed to billow in a non-existent wind. The lights flickered alarmingly.

"You didn't even say good-bye, Cas. Just went back upstairs and abandoned me for months! I prayed to you and you didn't come! And now you need me. Well, I'm not doing it. I'm through. I've lost everything, and I'm done. So you can just fly away home, now."

"I have missed you, Dean."

Dean seemed on the verge of punching Cas, but the handcuffs prevented it. Booth let out a slight hysterical snort at the thought of calling someone so terrifying Cas.

Bones recovered her voice. "Who are you?"

That was reassuring. It meant he probably wasn't hallucinating, if Bones had seen him too.

The man turned his head slightly. "I'm an angel of the Lord. I must speak with Dean."

Booth crossed himself and began to pray.

He heard the angel speak.

"See, Dean. This is a devout man. This is the correct way to acknowledge the presence of an angel."

XXXXXXX


	2. Chapter 2

Brennan was inclined to think the whole thing was some elaborate practical joke. At first she had suspected Booth had set it up in a desperate attempt to convince her to subscribe to the unsubstantiated mythology he followed so faithfully, but then she had seen his face when the man had told them he was an angel. His shock and confusion at the man's sudden appearance seemed genuine, and as she watched him pray, Brennan realised that this 'angel' did not fit the mental framework Booth had for angels. Booth had not said anything about angels wearing trench coats and emotionless expressions.

Brennan made a note to check the floor for trapdoors after the interview.

Booth looked up from his prayer, but didn't seem to know what to do. For once, Brennan, too, was lost for words, despite the idiot across from her having destroyed her evidence.

The idiot was still arguing with the 'angel'. A dead man and an angel of the lord, standing toe-to-toe in an interrogation room. Dean was yelling.

"You're meant to be my angel, Cas! You're my _best friend_ and you just disappeared without warning, in the middle of a conversation and didn't come back for months. I thought they'd changed their minds and killed you! But no, you just got your reward and abandoned me! Screw you, Cas."

Brennan saw Booth cross himself at that. She supposed that had angels really existed, saying 'screw you' to one would not be entirely appropriate.

Cas was unmoved. Brennan finally understood the metaphor that Booth used sometimes about talking to a brick wall.

"I have been busy, Dean. The world does not revolve around you alone."

Dean smirked derisively. "You seemed pretty sure it did last year."

Brennan considered calling security. The man was obviously insane. She was fairly certain she wouldn't get far if she tried to move, though. Dean Winchester was definitely dangerous, and this 'Cas' person wasn't afraid of him at all, which probably meant he was even more unbalanced.

"There has been some resistance to the new order of things."

"I'm not helping," Dean said, stubbornly. "Not unless you help me get Sammy out of hell."

"But Sam is not in hell, Dean. I have been looking for him."

Brennan wasn't following this conversation at all, but that statement seemed to change things. Dean stopped yelling, and jerked backwards slightly in surprise.

"What?"

"Sam walks the earth. I have been searching for him when I can. He is proving difficult to find."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Dean asked quietly.

"I could hear you screaming, Dean. I did not wish to return without good news."

"Do you have good news now, then?"

"No."

The room was silent for a moment. The little voice in the back of Brennan's head that only spoke up with irrelevancies in times of extreme stress wondered how they could stand so close to each other and not accidently hit each other with their hand gestures.

Cas looked down first. Brennan was surprised. She had perceived him as the dominant male of the relationship, and being the first to break eye contact was a submissive act.

"I thought Sam was your best friend," he said, hesitantly.

_Where did that sudden topic change come from?_ Brennan wondered. She glanced over at Booth, who seemed intrigued by the conversation. He didn't seem at all surprised by the sudden turn of the conversation.

Dean seemed uncomfortable, all of a sudden. Maybe a little embarrassed. Brennan couldn't be sure. Booth had told her many times that her ability to judge emotions was somewhat lacking.

"Sam's my brother. Brothers don't count."

"Oh," said Cas.

"Did you want something, Cas? Or did you just want to visit me where I couldn't escape?" Dean asked, gesturing at his handcuffs and the locked door.

"Why have you been arrested, Dean?"

Booth seemed to jump back to reality at that. He stood up, staring his shoulders in an attempt to assert his dominance. He looked quite impressive like that.

"Sit down, both of you," he said sternly.

Dean and Cas sat.

"I'd like to ask you some questions."

"He is much more threatening than you are when you pretend to be an FBI agent, Dean."

Dean smiled a little at that. Not the fake smile that didn't reach his eyes, or the derisive smirk he'd had when arguing with Cas, but a tiny smile of genuine amusement that was quickly reined in. A spark appeared in his eyes, and he seemed more alive. He shrugged when Booth opened his mouth to ask if that was an admission of guilt in the charges of impersonating an officer of the law.

"Angels, dude."

Booth began his questioning once more.

"Why did you try to burn the bones?"

Brennan gave Dean her fiercest glare, remembering what he had done to her evidence.

"Were you involved in the death of Gillian Sparrow in any capacity?"

"No! Dammit, you try to do a good thing and everyone just craps all over you." Dean looked like he wanted to fold his arms defensively across his chest, but couldn't because of the handcuffs. He settled for glaring at Booth.

Brennan leaned forward, angered by his statement. "In what way," she asked through gritted teeth, "could setting fire to the bones of a brutally murdered woman and destroying all chance of her murderer ever being found, possibly be a good thing?"

Dean leaned towards her. She was momentarily distracted by his perfect bone structure. How was it possible that such an astoundingly handsome face belonged to such a fundamentally evil man?

Beside her, Booth tensed at Dean's movement.

Dean looked her directly in the eye, and said in perfect seriousness, "How is allowing her spirit to rip apart small children a good thing?"

"How did you know where to find the bones?" Booth asked, ignoring Dean's comment. He still seemed shaken by the appearance of Cas, and his subsequent declaration of himself as an angel of the Lord. Brennan assumed that was why he was not commenting on the fact that both of the men on the other side of the table were obviously insane.

Cas, who had listened silently, passed his blue-eyed gaze across the FBI agent and the anthropologist. "We must ask you not to interfere with Dean's investigation any further."

"Bones," Booth said, "Why don't you get us some coffee?"

Brennan wanted to protest at the dismissal, but saw the note he slid along the desk to her. Call Sweets.

She left the interrogation room.


	3. Chapter 3

Sweets was apprehensive as he entered the interrogation room. All Dr Brennan had told him on the phone was that there were two extremely unbalanced men with her and Booth, one of whom was claiming to be an angel of the Lord, and one who was wanted for several counts of murder and torture and had apparently died several times. Also, he was still a little freaked by the big guy lurking in the shadows outside the building.

Booth looked relieved to see him. All three men and Dr Brennan were sipping coffee. Sweets was of the opinion that is was fairly dangerous to give hot coffee to the criminally insane, but the suspects seemed calm and it never hurt to develop a rapport. He made a mental note to remind Booth to offer soda instead next time.

Dean Winchester and 'Cas' seemed to be having a private conversation. Neither man was wearing handcuffs. It was obvious Booth had lost any semblance of control he may have had.

As Sweets entered, Dean was saying: "So why did you really pop in, Cas? I know you didn't just come for a cup of coffee with the nice FBI agent and his hot anthropologist sidekick with social skills that match yours. Actually, you guys would be perfect for each other... except for the whole non-believer thing... who are you?"

He looked at Sweets. Sweets felt strangely awkward and young under his gaze.

"Dr Lance Sweets. I'm an FBI psychologist." Sweets extended his hand. Dean shook it. Cas looked unsure about what it was for, but had some sort of silent conversation with Dean, and shook it too.

"Dean Winchester. I'm the Michael Sword." Dean seemed to be subtly mocking him, but the claim was intriguing.

"I'm Castiel. I'm an angel of the Lord." Castiel was not mocking at all.

"We'll be out of your hair in no time. We just need to convince these two to stop interfering with our investigation." That was Dean again. Serious this time. Sweets silently put both of them down for a diagnosis of religious psychosis.

"Do you fix souls?" Castiel asked him.

"Cas. Concentrate."

Sweets hesitated. "I help people escape damaging thought patterns and reduce aberrant behaviour."

"Can you help Dean? He will not let me fix him."

"Cas!"

"Why don't you tell me what's wrong, and I'll try to help?" Sweets sat next to Bones, taking Dean's file from Booth. This was going to be interesting. He couldn't help noticing that Booth was acting a little strange. He seemed to be averting his eyes from Castiel.

Actually, that was one of the main reasons he'd come in such a hurry in the middle of the night. Dr Brennan had sounded concerned on the phone, hissing: "I think Booth believes him! He keeps crossing himself!"

But, back to the more immediate concern – Sweets looked across at Dean.

"So, Dean – How did you become the Michael Sword?"

"It's a really long story."

"Well, why don't you start with how you came back from the dead?"

"Which time?" Dean seemed to be slightly amused by that, but the smirk on his face obviously covered deep, painful emotion. Something bad, serious trauma, had occurred in this man's life, and he did not want to talk about it.

"Why don't you tell me about each time, starting with the shooting in St Louis?"

"That was a shapeshifter."

Belief in the Supernatural. Childhood trauma of some kind. Lack of knowledge of the crime in interrogations after the attack. Obvious reluctance to acknowledge and think about painful times of his life. Dissociative Identity Disorder?

"So when was really the first time you died?"

"He drowned as a small child." Castiel stated.

Dean looked surprised. "What? When was this?"

"Before your mother was killed. Your soul was the talk of heaven. Then it disappeared, and none of the angels knew how it had been taken back to earth."

Sweets was beginning to doubt that Dean was the only one who needed help. He was fairly sure that he for one, and probably Booth and Brennan, would need serious psychiatric help once this case was solved.

Dean looked annoyed. "Why did you not tell me that before?"

"It did not seem relevant."

Sweets interrupted. "And after that?"

"Electrocution. Massive heart attack. Doctors gave me two weeks. Sammy dragged me to a faith healer."

"And the faith healer cured you?" Sweets carefully pretended not to notice the voice cracking on the name.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Booth nudge Dr Brennan, and mouth: "I told you they worked." Really professional, Booth.

"His wife bound a reaper and transferred my death to someone else. Didn't find out till after."

Dean seemed upset by that. Depression? Suicidal thoughts? It was odd, though. The placebo effect that most faith healing consisted of would not take hold if the sick person did not want to be healed, and yet Dean looked perfectly healthy.

"What about the next time?"

"Car crash. I was in a coma. The reaper's name was Tessa. I was going to go with her. I should have."

Survivor's guilt? This was not a healthy psyche. "Why didn't you?"

"My Dad sold his soul to the demon that murdered my mother, so I could live and look after Sam."

The mask was slipping. Sweets could see the pain in his eyes. Castiel was right. Dean needed to be fixed, and wasn't sure he wanted to be. Unconscious masochism.

"Then Sam died and I made a deal to bring him back. Gabriel killed me every day for a hundred days, to teach Sam a lesson about trying to get me out of the deal. I don't remember it, but Sam said one time a desk fell on me. The last time, I was dead for six months. Gabriel turned back time, though, so it was like I never died."

"Gabriel did not understand, Dean."

"I know he's your brother and everything, Cas, but Gabriel was a massive douchebag. Turned out OK in the end, though."

"I will let him know you said that. He always liked you."

Dean snorted. "Liked me? Funny way of showing it. Decent sense of humour, though. Wait, was he brought back, then?"

"Father rewarded him for his final show of faith to humanity."

Booth spoke up. "Gabriel the archangel?" He asked, with awe in his voice.

Brennan looked at him scornfully. "Angels aren't real, Booth."

Dean's whole demeanour changed at that. He laughed. "Maybe you should show them your wings, Cas."

Cas looked offended. "I do not show my wings to just anyone, Dean."

The lights flickered and a faint breeze seemed to lift Castiel's hair. Suddenly, Castiel seemed bigger.

Sweets decided to ignore the sudden doubt that entered his consciousness. This was simple religious psychosis with a side helping of grief, depression and self esteem issues. There was no way any of it was true. No way.

This relationship, though. This could be interesting to look into. After, you know, the multiple deaths, angel of the Lord thing was sorted out.

"What happened next?" he asked.

"The hellhounds came for me and dragged me to hell." Dean's whole body tensed, and his eyes went vacant. He seemed to be remembering something terrible. "I was there for forty years."

Post-traumatic stress disorder? He certainly had the main personality traits associated with its development – emotional repression and avoidance.

Dean shook himself out of his reverie. "Then Cas here raised me from perdition. Then we accidentally started the apocalypse and Michael wanted to make me his bitch and Sam was Lucy's vessel and some hunters shot us 'cos they thought Sammy was a monster. We went to heaven that time. Not all it's cracked up to be. Discovered God was on vacation. Now, I did what you wanted, you guys have to do what I want, and back the hell out of my case."

"Do you feel better, Dean? Will you let me repair your soul now? I can give you peace." Cas asked, staring into Dean's eyes.

"I don't want you to fix me, Cas! I don't want paradise, I want my brother back!" Dean spat at him. "Let's go. Get us out of here."

Castiel looked sad. He grasped Dean's should. There was a rush of flapping sounds, almost like a giant bird. Castiel and Dean disappeared.

Sweets fainted.

XXXXXXX

Sweets eventually recovered enough to go home. He had a look to think about. As he reached out to open his car door, he felt cold steel on the back of his neck. A gun. He hadn't even heard footsteps behind him.

A voice said coldly: "Where is my brother?"

XXXXXXXX


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I just realised I forgot to disclaim. I hereby disclaim.**

** Also thanks everyone for all the reviews. **

Sam Winchester scared the crap out of Sweets, and not just because he was gigantic and holding a gun. Dean might have had the record and several concurrent mental illnesses, but he just hadn't given off serial killer-sociopath vibes. Sam had the look. His eyes were hard, and he didn't seem quite human. There was a feeling around him, like Castiel had given off. Only different.

"Just relax," Sweets squeaked. It didn't come out quite as calm and reasonable as he'd hoped.

Sam pressed the gun harder into his neck. "Where's Dean?"

"I'll take you to him! Just don't shoot!"

"I'm not stupid, Lance. I'm not walking you into the FBI building at gunpoint. We'd never get out. Get in the car." Sam pushed him roughly into the passenger seat, securing his hands with handcuffs. Probably stolen from the security guard. Sweets fought the urge to laugh hysterically. _How does he know my name? How does he know my freakin' name?_

Sweets practiced his deep breathing exercises and tried to memorise the streets as they drove. _ Protocol on being kidnapped – what is the protocol on being kidnapped? _He thought desperately, but it was like his mind had been erased. Panic-induced dissociation.

Their destination was a small apartment in a part of town that Sweets didn't know well. It was a poorer area, where fewer people were likely to pay attention to screams and gunshots. _Crap_, he wished he hadn't lied.

Inside, Sam tied him to a chair.

"Call your boss and tell him we're making an exchange. You for Dean. My brother is not going down." He found Booth's number on Sweets' speed dial, and held the phone up to Sweets' ear. "Tell him if Dean's not released in one hour, I'm shooting you in the head."

Sweets' deep breathing exercises stopped working.

Sam slapped him in the face. "Look," he said, "I don't want to hurt you." He looked deeply into his eyes. "I'm not some crazy guy who goes around hurting people for fun. I don't like killing people." He sounded almost apologetic, and some of the hardness in his eyes disappeared. The fact that Sam was sorry for it didn't make the prospect of being shot in the head in an hour's time any more appealing, though. "I have to help Dean, though. You understand that, right? He's my brother."

Sweets nodded wordlessly. His mouth was suddenly dry.

Sam pressed the button. The phone dialled Booth's number.

"Booth." Agent Booth's voice sounded rough and sleepy.

Sam nodded to him. "It's Sweets," he stammered, "I'm with Sam Winchester." He could hear Booth jumping out of bed and preparing to leave.

"Where are you?" Booth asked.

Sam frowned at him. Cocked the gun.

"He says to release Dean within an hour or he'll shoot me in the head." Sweets could hear the tremble in his voice.

Booth swore loudly, and then recovered enough to say: "Let me speak to him."

Sam took the phone back, and listened while Booth said something.

_Booth's good at this. This is what he does. He saves people. He'll save me. Everything will be fine. _Positive thinking didn't seem to be working though. He could see Sam tensing up again as Booth spoke. Sweets could have sworn the table across the room was levitating slightly. Sweat dripped down his back.

"I know he doesn't deserve to die. He hasn't done anything wrong. I'm sorry, I really am," Sam was saying, "but my brother hasn't done anything wrong either. He doesn't deserve to go down like this – he's a good man, and he's had a really hard life. It's time for me to look after him now. So, I don't want to kill your friend, but I will if you continue to hold Dean. One hour, and I want to speak to him on an untapped line."

Sam snapped the phone shut. Sweets could see tension knotting his muscles, and the hard look was back in his eyes. A strange electricity was in the air, and the table was definitely floating at least a foot off the ground.

"Why do you have to look after Dean?" Sweets asked Sam, ignoring the table because clearly it couldn't actually be floating.

Sam softened again. Just slightly. "That's what family does."

Sweets tried: "I know you feel he's your responsibility, but your brother has serious mental health issues. You might just have to face the fact that he would be better off in a mental health facility. As it stands, that's where he is likely to end up. He almost certainly won't be executed."

Sam seemed to find that slightly funny. "A mental institution? Dean would go crazy in a matter of days. He doesn't like being locked inside. He's not crazy, you know. I mean, maybe a little depression, PTSD, but he's had a hard life, and forty years in hell will do that to you."

_Sam too?_

"So all that stuff about dying repeatedly? That was true? Why don't you tell me about your brother? Why aren't you with him?" _Keep him talking; give the FBI time to track the phone. Try not to get killed._

"I'm dangerous. There's always been something dark inside me. My whole life, Lucifer was preparing me, manipulating me so when the time came I would accept him and let him use me as his vessel. And now that he has, and he's locked away in the cage, the darkness... it's getting harder to control. I can't hurt Dean again; he's just barely holding it together. I have to help from the sidelines."

Sam sounded mournful. Sweets watched him. For a moment, when he was talking about not being able to stay with his brother, Sweets could have sworn he saw tears well up in his eyes. The whole Lucifer thing was freakin' scary, though. He'd thought Dean and Castiel had severe religious psychosis, but believing your entire life had been a product of the devil moulding you to his purpose? That was awful. Not to mention the extreme co-dependence both brothers were exhibiting. If he hadn't been being held hostage as bargaining by one brother for the release of the other, who had disappeared into thin air, he would have loved to do an interview with both of them.

"What about your brother's friend Castiel? Do you believe he's an angel of the Lord?"

"You met Cas? He's alive?"

"He was with Dean. They were arguing."

"But he got smote. I saw him. Chunky soup. God must have brought him back. Wait, Cas was there... did he have his powers?"

"He said he had been sorting things out in heaven." Sweets couldn't believe he was having a conversation about this. Sometimes you had to play along to keep people calm, though. And there was no denying that Dean and Cas had disappeared.

"The FBI doesn't have Dean, do they? Dean and Cas are gone?"

Sweets didn't know what to do. If he told the truth, maybe Sam would just abandon him. Or maybe he would get angry about being set up to get captured by the FBI and kill him. Maybe it would be better to keep lying.

In the end he nodded, because Sam looked angry, and he could feel a panic attack coming on.

"This was a trap? Dammit, when did I get so impulsive?" Sam muttered to himself. "How far away are the cops?" He asked.

"Not long," Sweets squeaked.

Sam Winchester picked up a backpack that had been sitting in the corner. He held his gun at the ready.

There was a noise in the next room.

Sam Winchester left the building.

XXXXXXX

"Where's my brother?" Dean asked from behind Sweets. Sweets hadn't even heard him come in.

"We must find him," Castiel contributed.

"He went out that window," Sweets replied, indicating with his head, "Hey, could you untie me?"

Sweets felt the sharp point of a knife touch his back, and his whole body went cold. Dean flicked the knife upwards, and the rope came apart. A strange high pitched giggle came out of Sweets' mouth. Dean and Cas headed towards the window.

"Wait, if you just stay here, I think I can help you with your problems. You need to talk to someone."

Dean grinned at him. "Much as I would love to stay and hear about how we're sublimating our unresolved sexual tension into shared religious delusions, I've got a brother to catch and a bunch of kids to save. Maybe next time, dude."

Dean and Cas climbed out the window.

Sweets sighed and leaned back in his chair, waiting for Booth.

XXXXXXX


	5. Chapter 5

Something was bothering Brennan. Someone who didn't know her well would assume her snappiness and impatience to be merely a by-product of her extreme intelligence and complete lack of social skills, but Angela did know her well, and could see that something was seriously wrong. Bren looked like she hadn't slept at all last night, and was examining Gillian Sparrow's bones carefully. She did not reply when Angela greeted her, and positively exploded when Daisy mounted the platform and cheerfully announced that the bones had been destroyed.

"They are not destroyed, Miss Wick. There is still evidence in these bones. You will find a way to salvage it. The destruction of remains is a serious matter. This woman deserves respect. She deserves justice. And we _will _catch who did this."

"What happened?" Daisy asked, peering at the gasoline-soaked remains.

"Dean Winchester happened," Brennan replied, glaring.

Angela decided it was time for an intervention.

"Have you been here all night?" She asked, taking Brennan by the arm and attempting to lead her away from the remains.

"Not all night," Brennan protested, resisting Angela's efforts.

"You need some coffee, Sweetie, and the only way to show that woman respect is to let Daisy study her remains, so you can discuss possible solutions based on completely separate examinations."

Eventually, Brennan allowed herself to be led away into Angela's office. Angela got her some coffee and sat down with her.

"Now, Sweetie, what's bothering you? I know it's not just the desecration of the remains. Who's Dean Winchester?"

Brennan seemed to be building up to something she really didn't want to say. "Angela?" She faltered, "Do you believe in... angels?" She sounded like she couldn't quite believe what she was saying.

Brennan was having an existential crisis! Brennan, the ultimate scientist, was questioning her beliefs – beliefs that just yesterday, Angela had heard her expounding on with great vigour to Booth. Something major must have happened last night.

"I believe in the possibility of angels. Maybe not exactly as the bible says, but I don't think anything should be discounted."

Brennan did not say anything for a long moment.

"What's brought this up, Bren? What happened?"

"Dean Winchester tried to burn the remains because he thought her ghost was killing children."

"That's terribly sad that he did not get help before it got to that point, sweetie, but what does it have to do with angels?"

"Dean Winchester is dead. According to his file, he has faked his death twice. By his own account, he has died over a hundred times, and spent forty years in hell."

"I don't understand. Does he think he's an angel, and that's why he's desecrating remains?"

Brennan hesitated again.

"Do you think he's an angel?"

Brennan shook her head. "Normally, I would have just said he was insane. Even when he was talking about his deaths, I thought he was crazy. Even when Castiel appeared, I kept thinking that, because it goes against everything I know to believe something like that. But I looked for trapdoors, and holographic projectors, and there was nothing there."

"So this Castiel, he appeared out of nowhere?"

"He said he was an angel of the Lord and that Dean was the Michael Sword, and they had a big argument and then they disappeared. Booth kept crossing himself and praying."

Angela was spared the necessity of replying to the extraordinary revelation that her friend was considering believing a man who claimed to be an angel by the entrance of Booth and Sweets.

Booth seemed to be in a hurry, and somewhat hindered by the unusual degree of clinginess Sweets was exhibiting.

"Where's Cam? I need her to go to a crime scene."

"Cam? But I go to the crime scenes, Booth." Brennan said, unaware of how petulant it sounded.

"Fresh body. Six-year-old kid. Just like Dean said." Booth sounded tired. "I looked through recent child murders. Two children in the last two months have had their throats ripped out. Both were in Gillian Sparrow's class."

"You can't seriously think the man who thinks he's the Michael Sword is right about a murder victim's ghost is killing students, Booth," said Brennan scornfully, showing no sign that she had just been acknowledging the possibility that he might not be lying about the Michael Sword thing.

"We met an angel last night, Bones. Of course I'm considering the possibility that vengeful spirits exist."

"What if it's them, Booth? What if they are killing the kids and this is some kind of sick joke?"

"Sweets here tells me that it's unlikely."

"Dean and Castiel may have severe psychological problems, but their story accounts for their symptoms, and it's very rare that three people share such intricate delusions."

The conversation was surreal. Angela was pretty sure she was dreaming. In real life there was no way Booth, Brennan _and _Sweets would be sitting in her office discussing the possibility of angels and ghosts in a non-hypothetical way. Most of the conversation was going straight over her head, but she did catch one thing. "Wait, three?"

"Sweets ran into Sam Winchester last night."

"I thought Sam was meant to be in hell? Wasn't that what the big fight was about?"

"He's not. He took me hostage to swap for his brother. Said he couldn't directly approach Dean because he was evil and Lucifer had been shaping him to his will for his entire life. And I'm pretty sure he moved the table with his mind."

Angela gave up trying to follow the conversation and just went with it. It was a dream, after all, and she had eaten Mexican last night – it was going to get weirder before it ended.

It did. The lights flickered. It was unnervingly realistic, this dream.

"We have come to burn the remains of Gillian Sparrow. Can you direct us to them?"

The voice belonged to a man in a trench coat that hadn't been there before she had turned her head to look at the lights. Booth crossed himself and knelt at the man's feet. Angela wasn't sure, but she thought she saw the man in the trench coat glance pointedly at the larger man beside him.

"Dude, I am never going to kneel in front of you."

Sweets could work wonders with the subtext of that.

"Guys, I really think we could all benefit from sitting down and discussing this calmly. We're totally freaking out here – how do you do that?" said Sweets from a safe distance.

"Dude, angel. Cas loves his dramatic entrances," the larger one said, seeming slightly amused.

"We must hurry, Dean," Cas said in annoyance.

Angela looked at Brennan. Even if it was just a dream, she was concerned for her friend. This was freaking her out, and she'd been open to the possibility of the supernatural and the afterlife for a long time. Brennan must think she's gone crazy.

Booth open his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a commotion from the lab. Angela heard Hodgins shout. There was a crash and a thud, and a shriek from Daisy. Dean and Cas lead the way out of the office.

Hodgins was pinned to the wall by an invisible hand, his feet dangling helplessly a yard off the floor.

Angela didn't faint, or scream or cry, because it was only a dream, and wasn't really happening. She looked over to the platform where Gillian Sparrow's bones lay.

A giant was standing over them, a lighter in his hand. He glanced up as they ran over. His eyes were filled with black. He flung the lighter, and the remains went up in a rush of flames. The fire reflected on his skin, red light flickering over him.

"Sam," Dean choked out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	6. Chapter 6

The black receded from Sam's eyes when Dean said his name. He stood, backlit by the flames, and stared at his brother silently. Dean said nothing more, but made a tiny gesture with his head. It obviously meant something along the lines of '_put the nice man down, Sammy'_, because on the other side of the room, Hodgins slid to the floor with a thump. 

Booth crossed himself and said a silent prayer of thanks. He was almost certain he heard a quiet groan beside him.

Dean stood rooted to the spot as his brother approached him slowly.

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

Dean looked enquiringly at his angel, and the angel nodded. Presumably that meant '_yes, it's really your brother',_ because Dean stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Sam, and Sam folded around him.

The lab was silent except for the roar of flames, the wailing of the fire alarm, and the hiss as the sprinklers turned on.

The cold water of the sprinklers brought Booth back to his senses. _Crap! _He should really do something before the lab burnt down and Bones committed grievous bodily harm. She was turning purple with rage. He instructed Sweets, who looked like he was about to faint, to take her outside, make sure everyone got out OK, and direct the fire-fighters in when they got there. He watched as his friends left the room, with some impressive resistance from Bones, before pulling out his gun.

"Sam Winchester, you are under arrest for breaking and entering, arson, and the desecration of human remains. You have the right to remain..." Booth trailed off.

Sam had withdrawn from his brother's arms and turned to face him. His eyes were ink-filled once more. He advanced on Booth.

No-one could ever say that Booth was not a brave man, but he felt his courage failing him then. He took a step backwards as Sam loomed over him, but kept his gun steady, aimed at the man's heart. Assuming he was a man.

"No sudden movement, Sam. Kneel on the floor and place your hands on the back of your head. If you try anything, I _will_ shoot."

Sam stood still, and for a second Booth thought he might be going to follow the order. But then Sam stretched an arm forward and closed his had tightly around air. Invisible pressure squeezed Booth's throat and he choked on his breath. The gun slipped from his hand, clanging against something metal on its way to the floor. He scrabbled at the air around his throat, and he prayed to God to deliver him from this evil.

And then Dean was standing in front of him, blocking his line of sight. It didn't make much difference anyway – his vision was going fuzzy from the oxygen deprivation. From a long way away, he heard Dean speaking to his brother, a quiet, even tone. Calming, the way you negotiated a hostage release, or spoke to a savage dog.

"It's OK, Sammy. You don't need to do this. He's not going to hurt you. He's not going to hurt me. Just let him go, and Cas will take us away from here. We're together now, we don't need anything else. Everything is going to be OK."

Booth felt the pressure ease slightly, and sucked in a desperate breath. Air. Air was wonderful stuff. But then the pressure built up again, and black spots danced before his eyes.

"You don't want to do this Sammy. This is hell talking, this isn't you. You don't kill innocent men. Remember how awful it was when Meg killed that man? Well this will be worse if you do it. You'll regret it for the rest of your life. Let him go, little brother. Let him go, and we'll leave. Go to the Grand Canyon..."

Sam's grip weakened once more, and Booth breathed once more. He had not quite realised until today just how much pleasure a person could obtain by the simple act of breathing.

Sam spoke, and his voice was softer than Booth had expected. Almost childlike. Scared. "What if it is me, Dean? I'm so _angry_. I _want_ to kill him. What if Lucifer just brought to the surface what was there all along? Maybe it's just my nature and I should stop fighting it. "

"It's not you, Sam. I know you. I brought you up. You wanted to escape. You don't like killing things. You were not born for this."

"What if I was lying to myself, Dean? Maybe I wanted to escape because I liked it too much."

"You can't fake that kind of outrage, Sammy. And even at the end, even after the Ruby and the demon blood and the dreams Lucy gave you, you didn't give in to him. You stayed you. A good man, who doesn't want the world to turn to flame, who doesn't want people to die. You don't want to kill Booth, Sammy. He's just doing his job. He doesn't understand."

Booth could feel Sam's grip loosen further. He was liking Dean more by the second. He thought he could hear fire engines arriving outside, and really hoped they wouldn't burst in right in the middle of this precarious situation. Sam might snap and kill him right then and there. _If I get out of this, _he promised himself, _I will tell Bones I love her. I can't die now because she doesn't know._

"Come on, Sammy. No one's going to hurt us. Let's go home. I've got the Impala close. Cas will take us there, and we'll drive to South Dakota. Just you and me. We'll go see Bobby. It'll be just like old times. The Winchesters, together again. "

Sam released his hold entirely. Through the clearing haze of his vision, Booth could see the blackness draining from his eyes. Suddenly, he seemed to be a small boy.

"I want to go home, Dean."

"OK, Sammy, we're going. Cas?"

The angel stepped forward, but just as he was about to place his hands on the Winchesters' shoulders, the doors slid open, and the fire fighters ran in.

Sam lost touch with himself again, and the blackness slid across his eyes. The first four firemen were flung backwards through the heavy glass of the door, and the others stood frozen in place, unable to move a muscle.

Sam seemed to grow again, and he rounded on his brother. Black smoke billowed from the dying flames behind him, and his hair was plastered to his face by the water from the sprinklers.

"You said we were safe, Dean! You said no one was coming for us! You lied to me! How do I even know you're my brother? Maybe I'm still in the cage and you're just a dream sent by Lucifer to hurt me!"

Sam was bearing down on his brother, and Booth was sure he was going to kill him. He reached for his gun with shaking hands. But then Castiel was between them, standing protectively over Dean, some sort of celestial blade gleaming in his hand.

"I do not want to hurt you, Sam. You are my friend. But you must not hurt your brother."

Sam turned his attention to Castiel, pulling out a knife and darting towards the angel.

"You cannot kill me Sam. Only an angel can kill another angel."

"Dean killed Zachariah."

"Yes."

Booth crept toward his gun.

Behind Castiel, Dean was inching sideways.

"I have seen your soul, Sam. You are in remarkably good condition for having been possessed by Lucifer. With care, you have a chance at redemption. You must let Dean help you. He has been in pain without you."

Booth picked up his gun and cocked it. Sam turned his head toward him. Dean lunged for his knife and grabbed it, twisting his brother's arm until the knife slipped from his hand. Castiel leapt forward and pressed two fingers to Sam's forehead. Sam crumpled.

The fire-fighters unfroze, and looked with horror at the scene before them.

Dean looked at Booth. "Sorry about your throat. Are you going to have to arrest us again?"

XXXXXXXXXXX


	7. Chapter 7

Brennan was so relieved that the lab hadn't burnt down that when Booth finally emerged, she ran over and hugged him. She held him tightly for a little longer than she had intended, and a slight feeling of embarrassment washed over her when she realised she was being stared at. She looked up from Booth's chest, and saw Castiel staring at them, his head tilted to the side, a slight frown on his face. His eyes were very blue. The scrutiny made her uncomfortable, so she stepped back and looked away.

"Are you alright?" The man who claimed to be an angel asked.

"She's fine, Dude. She was just worried about her boyfriend." Dean had been watching too.

"He's not-" She started, but stopped because Booth looked like he wanted to say something. He took her by the arm, and gave Dean and Castiel one of those significant looks that she never quite understood. Dean turned away slightly. Apparently Castiel didn't understand it either, because he kept staring until Dean turned him around.

"There's something I wanted to say to you, Bones," Booth told her. He smelled of smoke and gasoline, and there were harsh red welts on his neck. "I realised, when I was in there-" He was cut off by the appearance of paramedics, wheeling an unconscious Sam Winchester out of the lab on a stretcher, and the arrival of several FBI vehicles.

"I understand you have some fugitives for us, Booth," a black-suited Agent called.

"Sorry, Bones. I guess I'll catch up with you later."

As Booth left to speak to the Agent, Brennan realised Dean was handcuffed. She felt a surge of pride that Booth had overcome three insane people, at least two of whom appeared to be on some sort of drugs to give them unusual strength and speed. _And the ability to appear and disappear into thin air. And hold people off the floor with their minds._ She pushed that thought down hard, and walked back to her friends.

Angela was fussing over Hodgins, which Brennan was glad of, because otherwise she would definitely be saying something about how her hugging Booth meant that they should be in a romantic relationship. Which wasn't true. She and Booth were partners, and cared about each other in a purely platonic way, which was fine. Friendship was all she wanted from him. Really.

Sweets didn't mention the slightly-too-long-hug either, because he was giggling hysterically, and kept asking: "Did you see his eyes? Did you see his _eyes_?" Over and over. He was extremely pale. Beside him, Daisy was silent.

Brennan was beginning to think she was the one that was on drugs. Maybe the remains had contained some sort of powerful hallucinogen, and she had ingested it during her preliminary examination. Daisy was never silent.

Cam was off talking to the Chief fire-fighter in an efficient, businesslike way, as though it was just one of Hodgins' experiments gone wrong. She glanced over at Brennan, and nodded slightly, and expression Brennan thought might be sympathy, or _I was worried about the lab too_, on her face.

_The lab!_ She needed to see the extent of the damage, in case she needed to find an alternative workplace for the next few days. The remains she had been working on had almost certainly been destroyed, but maybe there were a few pieces that could be salvaged. She would not let the murder of Gillian Sparrow remain unresolved because of the interference of a couple of madmen.

Booth intercepted her on the way to the entrance, and wouldn't let her go in because the fire-fighters were still working, and then the FBI would have to secure the crime scene. Brennan was unsure why, because they had already caught the perpetrator, but she let Booth lead her away anyway, because he needed her at the scene of the murder of the six-year-old he had come into the lab about that morning.

"I thought you needed Cam?" She said suspiciously.

"Cam has to deal with the authorities about the fire at the moment. I'll need her for the autopsy, but we can bring the body to her. We have reason to believe that we will find one of Gillian Sparrow's missing bones at the crime scene, and will need you to identify it."

Brennan slipped into the passenger seat of Booth's SUV. It wasn't until after they had pulled away from the curb that she realised Dean Winchester was sitting in the backseat.

XXXXX

Booth had been right. There was part of Gillian Sparrow at the crime scene. At least, it seemed highly probable that it was part of Gillian Sparrow, because it matched the wear of expected in the left mandibular molar of a woman of her age, and appeared to have been forcibly removed from the mandible, possibly with pliers. Brennan was really starting to dislike people who pulled out teeth.

Booth was looking at her strangely, like he thought she was going to start crying or something, which was ridiculous.

"It doesn't fit Gorgonzola's MO," he told her. Usually, she would have commented on his mistake in the name, but she had figured out a few months ago that he did it to belittle the criminal, and somehow it made her feel better.

She nodded, and crouched down to pick up the tooth.

"No! Wait, don't touch it!" Dean Winchester shouted urgently, from somewhere behind her. How had he even got out of the SUV? He'd been handcuffed in! Brennan wasn't even sure why Booth had brought him along. Something about him being innocent and it needing to look like he's been arrested so Booth couldn't be blamed for the fire in the lab. Booth had said something about Dean saving his life, so she didn't say anything, settling for glaring at Dean.

She picked up the tooth.

The wind suddenly got very cold. She shivered slightly as she slipped the tooth into an evidence bag.

She turned around. Gillian Sparrow was standing over the outline where the dead boy had been. Blood soaked the ground at her feet. She looked just like she had in her photo – like an elementary school teacher. She was short, and slightly plump, with curly brown hair. Only now there was blood running from her throat, snaking in rivulets down her arms and torso, and she was pale, so pale. And she was holding a knife. And flickering.

Gillian Sparrow blurred towards her.

Somewhere, Dean was shouting at someone to undo his frickin' handcuffs. Then: "Cas! Cas! I need you right freakin' now, man! Bring salt!" into thin air. Brennan_ knew _Castiel wasn't there, because she would have noticed him staring at people in the SUV.

Then Booth was there, diving in front of her, even though she was perfectly capable of fighting off this... thing by herself. The knife came down and blood spurted from Booth's leg, and suddenly, she was very, very angry.

She lunged forward, intending to catch the woman in a hold that would both disarm her and prevent her escape. But when she got there, the woman was on the other side of Booth, knife dripping with his blood, glaring at Brennan in absolute fury. A tremor of fear ran through her, but no one stabbed Booth when she was around and got away with it. She leapt forward again, trying to block out Booth's groans of pain as he dragged himself out of the way.

The dead woman punched with surprising force, knocking Brennan to the ground. She raised the knife, but Brennan rolled away. Gillian Sparrow recovered and aimed again.

From a little way to their left, Dean Winchester's voice said: "Finally! What took you so long?" And then a few seconds later: "Hey bitch, want a real fight?"

The entity was distracted, and rushed at Dean, who had somehow acquired a shotgun. He fired once, and she disintegrated. Brennan let out a sigh of relief and ran over to Booth.

Booth was fine. The wound in his leg was miraculously healed, and he was kneeling, head bowed, before Castiel. Praying again. Brennan thought Castiel looked slightly annoyed, but she found it difficult to tell these things at the best of times, and Castiel hardly ever moved his face.

"We have to go, she'll be back," Dean called, running over and dragging Booth up. "Run to the car," he instructed, reloading his shotgun. Brennan decided not to ask where he had got it from. Or how Castiel had got there. She grabbed Booth's arm and ran.

XXXXX

They heard several more shotgun blasts from the safety of the SUV, and when Dean and Castiel arrived back, they both looked a little annoyed.

Dean was saying: "You forgot gas! Have you ever tried to set a tooth on fire with no gasoline? Not even lighter fluid, Cas!"

"It has never come up, Dean."

"My life sucks."

They carried on that way most of the way back to the FBI building.

Then Cas said: "Where can we find Dr Sweets? We require his services."

_You really do, _thought Brennan.


	8. Chapter 8

Sweets was in his kitchen, freaking out. He had the day off because the events of the previous night had been extremely stressful, and he had almost hyperventilated after seeing Sam get his evil on at the lab. He was pretty sure that there was at least some truth to the stories of angels and demons the Winchesters had been spinning. Sam definitely wasn't fully human. Humans could not move things with their minds. And the whole appearing out of nowhere thing made it fairly likely that Castiel's claim was true too. Although, there was always the possibility that Castiel was not an angel, but some other entity that could teleport. Like a time-lord. Maybe he was secretly the Doctor. That would be awesome.

It was OK for now, though. Sam was safely in a heavily guarded padded cell in a nearby FBI facility. Nothing to worry about, right? As long as nobody opened the door.

"We require your services," Castiel announced solemnly. Sweets narrowly escaped a heart attack. Castiel and Dean stood in the doorway.

"In what way?" Sweets asked, like it was totally normal for time-lords to be standing in his kitchen.

Dean and Cas sat down opposite him at the table.

"We need you to fix Sam," said Dean.

"And Dean," Cas added.

Dean turned to his friend. Or Angel. Or time-lord. As the case may be. "I told you, I don't need fixing. I'm fine. We just need him to go back to normal, and everything will be great."

"He is very unhappy. I have not seen him smile for more than a year. I think he is depressed," Cas continued, ignoring Dean. He looked deeply into Sweets' eyes. It made him slightly uncomfortable.

"How would you know if I've been smiling? You haven't been around for months. Maybe I smile all the time when you aren't there!"

"I have been watching from afar, Dean. I can hear the screams of your soul. It is very distracting."

"Stalk me much?" Dean grumbled, but his eyes warmed slightly, like he was secretly kind of pleased.

These two would be excellent to work with. Extremely interesting.

"What makes you believe that Dean in depressed?" Sweets asked, "I mean, other than the screaming soul thing, which I'm sure is totally annoying, but no good for basing a diagnosis on."

"I have been reading," said Cas, withdrawing a book from his trench coat pocket. The DSM-IV-TR. Impressive. That coat must have giant pockets, because it was a huge book – the comprehensive guide to all mental illnesses, used by clinical psychologists worldwide. It must weigh a ton. Or maybe Cas had used his angelic shrinkage powers, or sonic screwdriver or something to fit it in his pocket. "Dean exhibits all the symptoms of both Major Depressive Disorder and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He will not allow me to heal his soul. I require you to fix him."

Sweets was trying to figure out how to explain that it didn't work like that, that simply sitting in front of a psychologist didn't fix someone, when Dean broke in. He sounded angry.

"I thought you said you were busy," he growled at Cas.

"I was."

"You had time to read that, but not to come see me? It's freakin' enormous! It must have taken you weeks!"

"I read quickly. You were not receptive to my company."

Dean turned back to Sweets. "I'm fine. You need to fix Sam."

"I really think we should discuss this, Dean. If you are suffering from either of those disorders, it is very serious... where are you going?" Sweets trailed off.

Dean stood up. "If you aren't going to help, I'll just go get Sammy myself." He glared at Sweets, and then at Castiel, and turned to stalk out of the room.

Castiel stood. "Dean. Sit down." It was an order. Sweets hadn't realised that Cas could look angry. He could. It was scary. If Sweets had been Dean, he would have sat down immediately. Possibly on the floor.

Dean was not Sweets, though, and he didn't scare that easily. He stopped, and stood his ground, glaring at Castiel.

"What if I don't, Cas? What are you going to do? Smite me? Not be my friend anymore? Because, really, what kind of friend abandons someone who has just lost everyone and everything that matters to him, just because Daddy's home and he's given him some new toys?"

"I have a job to do, Dean. I gave up everything for you! I was faithful to you and to humanity even though it cost me my family, my place in heaven, and my grace. I was smote for you. Twice! And now I have been asked back to heaven to make changes for the good of humanity, and you are angry because I cannot call you every day! You are being selfish, Dean."

"Selfish? I gave up my whole life for other people. It's my turn to be selfish, Cas! It's my turn!" Dean's voice rose into a yell. He stepped closer to Castiel, until their bodies were almost pressed up against each other.

Sweets watched as the two men stared into each other's eyes. He felt uncomfortable, almost embarrassed to be witnessing it. He was unconcerned about listening to an argument, or a conversation spoken out loud. Valuable insights could be gained from those. But watching this felt invasive. This was intimate. Intense. Like they were seeing each other's souls. He didn't want to watch, but could not tear his eyes away.

For a moment, it looked like Dean and Cas were glowing. It was just the sun streaming in the window behind them, Sweets realised. But they seemed like they should be.

Dean looked away. "Fine," he sighed. "I'll talk to the guy – _after_ we save Sammy from a padded cell."

Castiel nodded his approval, the corners of his mouth twitching in a slightly smug way. "We must hurry, before he succumbs to the evil he has been fighting so hard."

They circled the table to stand next to Sweets, who was still sitting awkwardly with his mouth open, thinking that this relationship was in definite need of some therapy. Castiel laid one hand on Dean's right shoulder, and one on Sweets' left.

It was the strangest sensation.


	9. Chapter 9

Sweets had decided he didn't like travelling by angelic teleportation. It happened so fast he didn't understand what had happened until he opened his eyes to a white-walled cell, with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach and a sudden rush of blood to the head. He thought he would probably rank it below flying in a plane but marginally above crawling bare-kneed over concrete.

The cell was padded and large enough to move around in, and Sweets knew that the door was heavily guarded. Sam Winchester was strapped to a white bed in the centre, eyelids blinking droopily.

"Sammy?" Dean said gently, approaching his brother.

"Dean?" Sam inquired hopefully.

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me. Cas is here too. We brought someone to help you."

"Hello," squeaked Sweets. He wasn't sure he was ok with being locked in a room with a man who, not twelve hours previously, had been holding his friend by the throat, two feet off the ground, using only the power of his mind. The black-filled eyes and throbbing veins would not quite fade from Sweets' mind, even as Sam lay pathetically on the cushioned bed.

"No-one can help me," Sam whispered.

"Don't say that, Sam. Sweets, here, is going to make you all better. Fix your head so you're you again."

"I'm evil, Dean. We just have to face it. I was trying to help you, and I got mad, and..." Sam trailed off. He weakly attempted to raise one arm, but his restraints held him close to the bed, sedatives doing the rest of the job.

Dean leaned over his brother and began to unbuckle the strap around his arm. Sweets moved to protest, but Castiel was _looking_ at him again, so he stopped. It appeared that it was alright for Castiel to question Dean's judgement, but not for Sweets to. That struck Sweets as a little unfair, because he _was_ the mental health professional in this situation, and clearly in a position to know more about the appropriate treatment of the criminally insane. They had brought him here against his will, and now they weren't even going to listen to his advice.

The strap fell away from Sam's arm, and Dean moved around to remove the binding on the other one.

Sam protested confusedly, "What are you doing? I'm dangerous. I could hurt you..."

"Dude, I'm pretty sure you could do that with your psychic crap anyway, so it won't really make a difference. But you won't hurt anyone. You're Sam. You don't hurt anyone unless they really deserve it."

Sam sat up and blinked at Sweets, like he didn't quite recognise him.

Dean looked at Sweets too, and made some sort of tiny gesture with his eyes. Sweets was usually pretty good with body language, but Dean seemed to forget to use his words sometimes – probably because he was so used to being with people he didn't need to use them with. After a second, he realised he was meant to be fixing Sam.

"I'm Dr Sweets, Sam. I'm a psychologist. Do you remember me?"

Sam looked down, mumbling something into his chest.

Dean clapped a hand onto Sam's shoulder. He didn't say anything, but it seemed to mean something to Sam, because he lifted his head, looked Sweets straight in the eye, and apologised.

It was the impressively heartfelt apology of only the truly repentant and the over-acting sociopath. It was even in the eyes. They were hazel now, all traces of darkness receded. And they were sad, and scared, and sorry.

Sweets accepted the apology for the kidnapping even though he didn't really want to, because Sam seemed genuinely horrified by his actions, and both Dean and Cas were fixing him with laser beam glares from opposite sides of the room.

"Why don't you tell me your story?" he suggested, "It might help to get some of the weight off your chest."

"Excellent!" said Dean. "Sammy loves to talk about feelings and emo crap, don't you Sam?"

Sam almost smiled at that. But he didn't.

It was interesting seeing the Winchesters together. They were obviously very close. Unusually close, Sweets thought, judging by the way they moved around each other, and the almost-secret language they seemed to have, where everything Dean said to his brother seemed to have a deeper meaning than the words themselves. Not to mention the whole taking-hostages-to-free-my-brother thing. And the I-don't-want-paradise-I-want-my-brother-back thing. Dangerously close, even. Too co-dependent to survive well apart. Sweets was willing to bet that the relationship was at least partly responsible for Sam losing the sense of self that kept him sane. Especially if they had fought.

"I tried to escape it," Sam said bitterly. Sweets hated it when people started in the middle of conversations and never really got round to telling him what they were talking about. Booth and Bones did it all the time. He was starting to think they did it just to annoy him.

"Tried to escape what?"

"My destiny. When I was six months old, a demon broke into our house and burnt our mother alive so it could bleed into my mouth. It wanted me to lead its demon army. Gave me death visions. And you know, that sucked pretty hard. It killed my girlfriend, you know. Yellow eyes." Sam leaned forward confidentially.

Two days ago, Sweets would have had this guy down as a paranoid schizophrenic without a second thought. Dean too. If you categorised Dean's stories about hell and the angels as delusions and hallucinations, Dean fulfilled all the criteria. Dean had major problems. Sweets was actually amazed he was walking around. But Dean would come later. Now was Sam's time.

"I died," Sam told him.

He'd come back from the dead, too? What the hell was with these guys and not staying dead?

"Dean sold his soul to bring me back."

Dean sold his soul for his brother? When it was time for Dean's session, they were going to have a serious talk about co-dependence and unhealthy levels of devotion. Possibly even obsession.

"But really it was all part of the bigger plan to get me to do what the devil wanted. Dean was the righteous man, y'know, and Cas pulled him out, but it was too late to save me. I fell down the path to hell when he went downstairs, and I can never get off it."

Dean patted his brother's shoulder again, in an almost fatherly way. "Yes you can, Sammy. All we have to do is get you back to being you, and you'll be right back on the stairway to heaven." He paused. "Heaven's probably better than last time, now, 'coz Cas is in charge. Last time kinda sucked, but you still ended up there even though you were Lucy's meatsuit. That must mean you're a good person."

These words didn't seem to be as much of a comfort to Sam and Dean had been hoping.

"Maybe then, but not anymore. Even upstairs, I could tell I shouldn't have been there. When our greatest hits were playing, I could see how you were looking at me. Like I didn't belong there! All my memories that played up there were selfish! Things that hurt you, so much. And all yours were of making other people feel better, making people happy. I'm not you, Dean! You deserve heaven. I'm selfish, and I hurt people, and sometimes I don't care. And now the demon blood has twisted me inside, and I'll never be me again!"

Dean took his hand off Sam's shoulder and stepped back. Blackness was filling Sam's eyes once more.


	10. Chapter 10

Sweets wasn't quite sure what happened next, just that there was a loud smashing noise and the next time he opened his eyes he was lying on the floor. There was a giant hole in the wall of the building. A Sam-sized hole. Sam was gone.

"Whaa?" He said. He had meant it to be "What happened? Is everyone alright?" but there was something wrong with his tongue.

Dean was slumped against the wall on the other side of the room. He wasn't even trying to move. Sweets thought he might be going to cry.

"Are you hurt, Dean?" Castiel asked. He stood over Dean, his coat torn, plaster dust greying his hair. He looked like a child playing an old homeless man in a school play.

"We lost him..." Dean said, so quietly Sweets wasn't sure he'd heard him. He sounded exhausted, defeated.

"We must go after him."

Dean didn't move. Cas stood looking at him, and didn't move either. Sweets was mildly annoyed that neither of them had asked if he was alright. He was pretty sure he had a concussion. Dean and his angel were looking blurry, and waves of dizziness washed over him every time he attempted to sit up.

"I'm fine," he said, not really expecting a response.

"The FBI agents have noticed his escape. They will be following him." Cas continued.

"Do you think he'd die if they shot him?"

"I think so. He is still mostly human."

"Will he go to heaven?"

_Christ! Oh, crap, blasphemy with an angel in the room has to be bad. I mean... Oh dear. Choosing his brother over paradise to contemplating killing him, in less than five minutes. Stop him killing his brother. Think! _Sweets struggled upright, fighting the fuzziness that swallowed his thoughts.

"I am not sure. Possibly he can still get there. Unless he kills someone." Cas was very matter of fact about it.

"Well, what happens when you smite people? Does the soul get destroyed? What happened when you were smote?" Dean's voice was cracking. Sweets couldn't see his face, but he sounded like he was horrified to even be contemplating the idea.

"I will not smite your brother, Dean."

Staff from the facility were approaching the hole in the wall. Sweets could hear an FBI agent warning people about bombs.

"Guys?" Sweets said, "I think if we're going to disappear, now would be a good time." He crawled over to Dean and Castiel, who both looked slightly surprised to see him.

"We must go, Dean. We are meant to be imprisoned. They will not respond well to our presence." Castiel reached two fingers towards Sweets' forehead, and the other hand towards Dean's. The strange jerking feeling came back, and when Sweets opened his eyes a second later, the white-padded walls were nowhere in sight.

He was on the ground again. It seemed to be a common theme of life with the Winchesters and company. He was looking at a wheel. It was the tyre was black and thickly treaded, and the hubcap was unusually shiny. He rolled over. The sky was very blue, the sun in the west. Afternoon, he judged. Afterwards, he realised he could have figured that out by looking at his watch, but somehow that didn't seem like something a kickass action hero who saved people from turning into demons did. Not that he was doing a particularly good job of that so far. The day had just flown past, what with the burning corpse in the lab in the morning, and the extremely interesting psychoanalysis of the Winchester brothers and Sam's dramatic escape. Being awesome was tiring.

"Is the shrink OK?" he heard Dean ask, and then Castiel was peering at him, his eyes extremely blue and way too close to his face.

"It would appear so. He is unused to excitement."

Sweets would have liked to protest at that – he was an FBI psychologist! He spent half his life in small rooms with murderers. Excitement, he could handle. He was unused to discovering that angels and demons existed as more than a metaphorical concept, and the world had nearly ended several months ago, without his even realising. He was unused to teleporting. He was unused to being kidnapped (twice if you counted being unexpectedly angel-transported into a padded cell). He was unused to having to work out problems in the relationships of two extremely unbalanced brothers and a highly eccentric angel of the lord with no social skills. He wasn't unused to excitement, but was being a little overwhelmed by the absolute overhaul of his entire belief system. Also, he hadn't had a chance to eat lunch.

"We need him on his game. We have to get to Sam before he kills anyone, or anyone kills him." Dean was loading some kind of dart into a gun. Hopefully horse-tranquillisers. Sweets was reassured by Dean's sudden return to a businesslike demeanour. Apparently the few minutes break for travel had been enough for him to pull himself together. Sweets just hoped the complete nervous breakdown would hold off until after they got Sam back.

"Sam has just left the park where we burned the tooth this morning," Cas reported.

"How do you know that?" Sweets asked. Having an angelic tracking system in your head would be awesome.

"It was on the police scanner."

Disappointing.

"Get in the car," Dean ordered. Sweets reached for the door of the awesome shiny black car, and stopped. Dean and Cas were looking at him. Like he was an alien, or something. Like he was doing something unbelievably out of the natural order of things. Dean inclined his head. Right. Backseat. Of course. He was always in the back seat.

They followed the reports on the police scanner to a small park in the suburbs. According to Dean, it looked just like the one that morning where they had burned the tooth and Cas had forgotten to bring the lighter fluid. Sweets wasn't even going to ask. They pulled up at the same time as Agent Booth's black SUV, which sped in from the opposite direction. Everyone tumbled out at once, Sweets and Dean and Cas from the Impala, and Booth and Brennan from the SUV.

"Keep back," Dean warned, as they made their way into the grassy centre of the park.

There, standing still in the centre, eyes black and veins popping, was Sam. Beside him, a middle-aged slightly chubby woman stood, holding a knife and bleeding profusely from the throat.


	11. Chapter 11

Bones was finally starting to accept that the events of the day were really happening. Booth was glad of that. In the long run it would be good for her to accept God. She was a good person, and God would love her even more once she began to believe in Him. She hadn't quite got that far yet, still trying to rationalise Castiel's miraculous healing ability and appearances from nowhere, using any explanation she could come up with, however tenuous. However, she had accepted the ghost as real with surprising quickness, quoting six or seven cultures with supernatural lore. Soon she would no longer be able to explain away Castiel's claims.

Booth had his own worries, though. Castiel did not fit in with the stories of angels he had heard his whole life. Angels of the Lord had did not wear trench coats and appear in interrogation rooms. The angels of his imaginings did not stare at him as though he was an alien and then return to arguing with felons. And angels of the Lord certainly did not get progressively more irritated every time he prayed. Did that mean that all of the teachings of the church were wrong? What if God, too, was not what he had been taught?

And then there was Dean Winchester. Booth's opinion of Dean had gone up about twenty points when he had been trying to talk Sam down, and then another ten when he had destroyed the ghost, but he still couldn't say he liked the guy. He may not have been a murderer, but any number of the other charges were legitimate. Credit card fraud, definitely, and escape from police custody. Theft. Breaking and entering. Assault. Dean Winchester might not be a murderer, and he might not be insane, but he was definitely not harmless. He was dishonest, and possibly even amoral. And yet God had seen fit to bring him back from hell, and place him in the care of an angel. Dean did not appreciate what he had. He did not deserve an angel.

Booth's musings were cut short by the ringing of his phone. Sam Winchester had escaped. He had blown a hole in the wall of the facility. He'd told them Sam had to be heavily sedated, and they hadn't done it, and now Sam was free to choke the life from someone else. He only hoped that Dean and Castiel were with him. Even if he didn't like Dean, the guy was brave, and he loved his brother, and if anyone could talk Sam out of murder, it was him. And Castiel could call on the power of the host and destroy Sam, if it came down to that. He hoped it wouldn't.

Fifteen minutes later, Booth and Bones were climbing out of the SUV beside the park where Sam had last been spotted. Bones had insisted on coming, and it worried Booth. He had tried to explain what Sam could do, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. He had settled for making her wear a bulletproof vest. Not that it would really help, but it made him feel better.

Across the road, Dean and Castiel and... was that _Sweets?_ Climbed out of a beautiful black Chevy Impala. Dean had some kind of gun, and he looked different to before. Harder. Determined. In charge.

"Stay back," Dean ordered.

They followed him to the middle of the field.

Sam looked like he had in the lab, murderous and demonic and enormous. The ghost from that morning stood beside him. They seemed to be locked in some kind of standoff. Booth crossed himself and said a silent prayer. Castiel glared at him.

Dean was hissing orders, telling Bones that there would be some kind of remains around, and they needed to find them, sending Sweets back to the car for salt and shotguns and iron. Booth felt slightly inadequate, and could still feel Castiel's eyes on him.

Dean swung around to face him. "And you stop praying. You're distracting Cas. Hold this." He shoved the gun into Booth's hands. "If Sam looks like he's going to hurt someone, shoot him."

Up close, Booth could see that it was a high powered tranquilizer gun, but even so, the way Dean said it seemed kind of callous. But then he caught Dean's eye and he knew that it wasn't because Dean didn't care.

Sweets came back, staggering under the weight of a large sack of salt, a shotgun, and a bag of rounds. Dean immediately set him to work pouring the salt in a large circle around his brother and the vengeful spirit.

The spirit was not hurting Sam. It seemed to be whispering in his ear. Sam squeezed his hand into a fist, and the spirit dissolved, reforming behind him. Sam turned to face her. She lifted her knife, but didn't use it. A noise that could almost have been the wind swept across the field. Booth was suddenly shivering. He could see ice crystals forming in Sam's hair.

"Do it."

Louder. "Do it, Sam."

Sam did nothing.

"Do not deny your nature, Sam. The light-bringer will reward you."

Beside Booth, Dean murmured, "No, Sammy. No."

Sam moved slightly, and Booth saw her. A little girl. Younger than Parker. Couldn't be more than five or six. He cocked the tranq gun. Dean made frantic _stay back_ gestures.

"He is part of you, Sam. You are part of him. Accept your true nature. Lucifer will be whole once more."

Sam bent over the little girl. Booth could hear her whimpering in fear.

"Now," ordered Dean.

Booth aimed and fired. The dart hit Sam's neck, and he wavered. Castiel was beside Sam, pulling the little girl away from him, and disappearing.

Dean was running to their right, crossing the saltline, shotgun trained on the ghost.

"Come and get me, you Satan-worshipping bitch!" He shouted, and the ghost rushed towards him.

Sam was still standing, veins throbbing in his neck. He turned to look at Booth, and Booth felt a deep rush of fear run through him. With shaking hands, he re-loaded the gun, aimed and fired, before Sam could lift his hand. Sam wobbled, but did not fall.

Not far away, Dean was shouting and swearing, and firing salt-rounds at the ghost, but he seemed a long way away as Sam loomed over him. Sam lifted his hand and concentrated, as he had done in the lab. A panicked thought rushed through Booth's head – where was Bones?

Nothing happened. The tranquilizers were setting in. And then Castiel was there, minus the little girl, and laying his fingers to Sam's forehead. Sam dropped to the grass. Booth dropped to his knees, breathing a sigh of relief, and thanking heaven for the escape.

"Dude, a little help over here," Dean called, and Castiel picked up an iron rod and ran to his side. Booth took up another. He wasn't sure where they'd come from; Sweets must have taken another trip back to the car. He ran over to help.

Dean was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, and red streams were flowing into his eyes. Castiel swung his iron bar through the ghost, and she disappeared for an instant. Dean wiped his eyes and reached for the gun that had flown from his hand.

The ghost reappeared behind him, and flung Booth aside, securing non-corporeal hands around Dean's neck. Castiel swung the bar again.

Before the iron touched the spirit, a red glow swept through her, and she disappeared, screaming.

Dean sighed with relief, and lay back on the ground. Booth followed his example.

Bones and Sweets emerged from the bushes about twenty yards away. "Did we do it right?" Sweets asked.

XXXXXXX


	12. Chapter 12

Angela had been comforting Hodgins after his ordeal. He was very shaken and had needed a friend, and even if things hadn't worked out between them, she would always be willing to take care of him.

Hodgins had told her everything that had happened, and they had spent hours just sitting in his living room, drinking coffee and discussing the surreal events of the day. While Angela had been listening to Brennan's confusion, Hodgins had been at his station, working as usual. The samples he had been examining had been fascinating. Angela had got a little bit lost while he was talking about the specifics, but it came down to this: Dirt from a different region, candle wax, various rare herbs, and goat's blood. That's right, goat's blood.

"It was a satanic ritual killing, Angela! Black magic! Goat's blood!" Hodgins had been disturbingly excited about it.

He hadn't got any further than that, though, because that was when Sam Winchester had come in. Sam had somehow managed to dispose of the security guard and make it through the automated security system without setting off the alarm, or anyone noticing, despite being a giant that was carrying a can of gasoline and a large carton of salt. Daisy had seen him first, as she came back from the bathroom. He was pouring gasoline over the already damaged corpse on the examination table. Her shriek had brought Hodgins running from the other side of the lab, and that was when Sam's eyes turned black.

Hodgins couldn't talk about being slammed against the wall by magic. It was too painful. They had gone to make a second cup of coffee instead.

She was almost certain that this wasn't a dream, now. Dreams did not usually involve large periods of waiting around for emergency services, and none of the other dreams she'd had about Hodgins had finished with them fully clothed, looking up Satan-Worship websites on his laptop.

It took them six hours, four cups of coffee each, and two cartons of Chinese, but eventually they found some useful information, and came up with a list of possible rituals that used the substances Hodgins had found on Gillian Sparrow's remains.

Angela found it a little shocking that instructions for Satanic rituals were freely available on the web, but some of the sites made surprisingly good arguments for devil worship. A few days ago she would have said that it was just another faith and people should be free to believe what they wanted, but now she had fairly reliable evidence that Satan was not a metaphorical construct for the human propensity to sin, but rather an actual being. It made her a little less accepting of the sites, which were largely aimed at converting teenagers.

"This might be it," she said, reading: "To bring forth the anti-Christ and bathe in the glory of the Light-Bringer: The bones of a believer who has drunk the blood of an innocent must lie for a year in red earth. The hostile spirit sacrifices innocents, while the coven waits for the moon. When the time of the devil is reached, and the moon is full, the bones must lie within a pentagram of blessed candles, dusted in Lucifer's contributions to nature (see below – dried Belladonna can be ordered from the SinnersInherit Store). The blood of a goat bathes the believer, and black earth covers her. Teeth must be removed from the jaw and scattered in a circle around the region to be sacrificed to Lucifer (this must be large – the Light-bringer will take offense at a small gift, and turn on those who called him forth. The final act to bring Satan to earth must be the sacrifice of a child by one who has taken Lucifer inside himself."

"Well, that's unpleasant," said Hodgins. "You know, I bet it was someone in the government who started this. They are trying to bring Satan into Washington, after all. Maybe George W Bush, and 'cause he's pissed he's not in charge anymore..."

"If it was this one, and it might not be," Angela said, "That means that Gillian Sparrow was a devout Satan worshipper, and she murdered a virgin or maybe a kid, and drank their blood. And she looked so nice and normal! I would have been happy to have our kids in her class."

It was slightly awkward for a moment after the little slip.

"I would have been happy for her to teach our kids too, Ange," Hodgins told her seriously.

They turned back to the screen and pretended nothing had happened.

Angela's phone rang. It was Brennan.

"Sweets and I just destroyed a vengeful spirit," Brennan announced.

Well, that was a change of heart. Angela supposed it wasn't that surprising, given the events of the day, but Bren hadn't said anything about ghosts that morning, except that Dean Winchester thought Gillian Sparrow's was killing children.

"What do you mean, Sweetie?" Angela asked.

"Meet us at the diner in 15 minutes," Brennan said. She disconnected before Angela could get in the news about the plump and ordinary school teacher being a secret Satanist.

XXXXX

Brennan and Booth were at the diner when Angela and Hodgins arrived. Sweets was nowhere to be seen, which was surprising, given that Bren had said it was her and Sweets that had killed the ghost, not her and Booth. Dean and Castiel weren't there either, which was a bit disappointing, because Angela had been hoping to see them again. They were hotties, both of them, and almost certainly not insane psycho-killers. Just the thing to take her mind off what the time she had spent with Hodgins meant.

"Where's Sweets?" she asked, once all the greetings were out of the way.

"Dean and Castiel took him to fix Sam," Booth told her, looking unhappy about the situation.

Angela didn't have time to think much about it, though, because Brennan started telling her about how she and Sweets had salted and burned a tooth and it had made a ghost go up in flames, and Booth told them all about how the ghost had been taunting Sam, trying to get him to kill a little girl, and how he'd shot Sam with a tranq gun.

Hodgins looked deep in thought for a moment. "Holy crap," he said.

XXXXXXX

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing. Keep it up, I need to know what I'm doing right and wrong.**


	13. Chapter 13

Sweets felt a thrill of horror mixed with a faint and deeply buried sense of satisfaction as he dropped Dean's lighter on the tooth, and heard the screams of the spirit as she burned out of existence. The tooth had been buried under a bush with pink flowers that he thought might be a rhododendron, inside a strange symbol that had been painted in the dirt. Dr Brennan had assured him that the paint was blood, but he tried not to think about that because it totally grossed him out. It had taken them a surprisingly short time to find it, given the size of the park. Dean had told them it would probably be at the base of a tree, in the same kind of position as the other one, and Dr Brennan had walked almost straight to it. Burning it was harder than it sounded, though. Dr Brennan had seemed to think it was impossible with the lighter fluid they had, but it had turned out to be some kind of super accelerant. When it had finally caught, the tooth flared up and was gone in seconds. The yelling and fighting noises stopped with the screaming.

Dr Brennan didn't even complain about destroying evidence. Much.

When Sweets and Dr Brennan (Bones, he secretly called her in his head) emerged from the bushes, Booth and Dean were both lying on the ground, breathing hard. Dean was bleeding from a cut to the forehead, and Booth – Booth just looked majorly freaked. A few yards away, Sam was slumped on the ground, unconscious. Holy crap, it was going to be hard to move him.

Castiel knelt beside Dean, and laid a hand on his forehead, gently. There was a slight glow, and the cut closed up. Sweets couldn't see clearly because of the blood, but it probably wouldn't even leave a scar. It must be awesome, having an angel around to heal you and stuff. Although, he could probably do without the angel-transport thing. His insides still didn't feel right.

Castiel turned to Sweets, fixing his serious gaze on Sweets' face. Still _crazy_-scary.

"We have incapacitated Sam for the moment. We require your services immediately."

"We were thinking of grabbing a bite to eat if you want to join us," Booth announced. "There's a diner we go to – it's got some great pie."

Sweets stomach grumbled. He hadn't had any lunch. Pie sounded really good. And maybe some fries.

"No," said Castiel. "It is imperative that we return Sam to his senses immediately."

Dean looked torn. "Apple pie?"

"Dean."

Dean grumbled. "Fine. Can you just zap Sam to the car, then? We'll have to find somewhere to lock him up." Oh, so that was how they were going to move him. Cas had superpowers, Sweets remembered. Being an angel wasn't all praying and social awkwardness.

Cas zapped to the car with Sam, Dean and Sweets following more slowly with the ghost-fighting gear.

Booth and Bones pulled away in the SUV as Sweets opened the back door of the Impala. They were going to the diner. Sweets would kill for some food. He actually would. But instead, he was squashed into the backseat of a vintage car with and unconscious Sam Winchester sprawled across him. Dean tossed him a pack of chips. Finally.

They drove back to the FBI facility where Sam had been kept, and parked around the corner. Cas disappeared. Sweets sat in the car with Sam's head in his lap and listened to Dean munch on chips and tap the stereo along to Enter Sandman. Dean didn't speak to Sweets, seeming uncomfortable talking to him without Cas around.

"You know, a person's taste in music can tell a lot about a person. For instance, a liking of classic rock or heavy metal often stems from a feeling of loneliness or helplessness in childhood, and an inability to vocalise emotion. Victims of emotional abuse or extremely strict parents often identify with the spirit of rebellion in the music, and rocking out to it serves as a release of pent up negative emotion," Sweets told him.

Dean stuffed more chips in his mouth and turned off the radio. He didn't reply.

Awkward.

Dean's therapy session was going to be fascinating, if he could get him to talk. Dean appeared to take refuge in silence, and was obviously a master at distraction.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Sweets looked down at Sam. Sam looked young and floppy and peaceful. Almost innocent. Sweets could suddenly understand why Dean wanted to save him so much. If you'd spent your whole life looking after your little brother, seeing him like this, it would be a terrible think to lose him, seeing him slowly slipping down a dark path. Like losing someone to drugs, but in this case the demons were literal.

"Finally," Dean said. Sweets jumped. Castiel was back in the front seat. Sweets would never get used to that.

"The guards are... taken care of."

Sweets gibbered. Castiel gave him a puzzled look.

Dean grinned. "Dude, you only say that when you've killed someone."

"I have erased the memories of every staff member. They will not notice us. We should enter through the hole Sam created. I will seal it behind us. You and the psychologist must walk. It would be difficult to carry three passengers."

Castiel placed his fingers on Sam's forehead, and they disappeared again.

A minute later, Sweets and Dean ducked under the crime scene tape. Three young policemen in pristine uniform guarded the perimeter, turning away rubberneckers, but as Sweets and Dean pushed past they merely stared through them with vacant eyes. It creeped Sweets out, just a tiny bit. They walked across the rubble and through the hole in the wall. In the white room, Sam lay on the bed once more.

Castiel waved his hand. The wall rebuilt itself behind them, rubble flying from the ground and knitting itself together so fast Sweets wasn't sure he'd even seen it.

Dean walked to his brother's side. It was time to wake Sam up.

XXXXXXXX


	14. Chapter 14

When Sam opened his eyes, they were no longer black. He blinked confusedly and tried to sit up.

"Sammy? You OK?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded, peering around the white room.

"Sweets is going to help you, so you won't hulk out again," Dean told him.

Sweets stepped forward. "Hi, Sam. If you just lie back and close your eyes, we're going to do something called free association, to try to find out the source of your psychological problems. I'll say a word, and you say the first thing that comes into your mind when you hear it."

"Great," Sam muttered. "A Freudian. I'm being psychoanalysed by a twelve-year-old who thinks that I want my mother to come back from the dead so I can sleep with her." Sweets chose to ignore the slight on his abilities, and just waited. Sam continued, "I don't need to be diagnosed. I already know what's wrong with me. It's that I'm evil."

"You're not evil, Sammy," Dean insisted. "Tell him!"

Sweets was a little hesitant to agree with Dean. Sam had, after all, kidnapped him and threatened to kill him. Luckily, the instruction seemed to be for Castiel. Dean was looking pointedly at his angel, and Castiel seemed to understand what Dean needed him to say.

"There is still a chance of redemption, Sam. The core of your soul remains bright and clean."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"As long as you do nothing to tarnish it, you will never be completely lost to darkness."

Sweets was of the opinion that Cas should have left out the 'completely', but the statement seemed to make Sam feel a little better.

"Please, just humour us, Sam. Let Sweets do his thing," Dean said.

"It will help your brother. He is very close to a complete nervous breakdown, and has refused to allow the psychologist to fix him until you have received help," Castiel added.

Dean looked annoyed, and opened his mouth to protest, but Sam lay back and shut his eyes, so he kept quiet.

That was interesting, another example of a Winchester placing a greater value on the well-being of their brother than their own.

"OK Sam, first word: I..." Sweets began.

"Am evil."

"You're not _evil_, Sam! Stop saying that!" Dean broke in.

"Dean, you must allow Dr Sweets to do his job."

"Dean..." said Sweets.

"Brother," Sam answered.

"Castiel..."

"Angel."

"Angel..."

"Lucifer."

"Lucifer..."

"Evil."

"Evil..."

"Me."

Dean let out a quiet huff of annoyance and glared at Sweets accusingly. Sweets changed tack.

"Dad..."

"Fight."

"Mom..."

"Dead."

"Dead..."

"Hell."

"Hell..."

"Dean."

It was getting fairly clear by now what the problem was. Sam's outlook on life was very negative, probably stemming from a difficult childhood involving a tumultuous relationship with his father and the death of his mother. His excessive devotion to his brother was probably the result of the extensive involvement of his brother in his upbringing. This negative bias was preventing him seeing hope in the face of the interest and manipulation of Lucifer.

"We're going to try something else, now, Sam. Stay as you are, and tell me about your childhood."

Sam was silent for a moment. "Could you be more specific?" He asked.

"Tell me your happiest memory."

Sam looked like he didn't want to say. "I don't have a happiest memory."

"You must have a happiest memory. Surely something good has happened to you in your life."

"Go on, Sam. I can take it," Dean said. Sweets looked at him – very interesting. Possibly the first time Dean had shown anything other than love and support for his brother. That look on his face was... anger. Anger and deep, deep hurt.

Sam sat up and opened his eyes. "No you can't, Dean. Remember after heaven? You said it was the worst night of your life. You _threw away_ your amulet!"

Now they were getting somewhere. This fixing the relationship between the brothers, which Sweets was just realising was _hugely _screwed up, and not just because the brothers were crazy co-dependent. Something had happened to create a rift, and Dean was desperately trying to pretend everything was fine between them. Sam seemed to think it was his fault, deepening his belief that he could not be saved from going evil. Sweets would love to write a book about this. He might have to make it a novel, though. No-one would take it seriously as an academic work.

"Well, I was kind of having a bad year, Sam. And then that night, to find out that all my little brother's best memories are my worst, _and_ that God had completely washed his hands of the apocalypse and was leaving it for us to take care of! It kind of sucked. Sue me. With your awesome lawyer skills you were so eager to abandon your family to gain."

"I do not believe this is helping, Dean." Castiel looked at Dean. Dean tore his eyes from his brother and looked back. He backed off.

"Actually, it might help to fix your relationship if you both air your grievances. Sam, why do you think Dean won't like your memory? Why does it matter what Dean thinks?"

Sam looked shocked. "It just does. He's my brother. I don't want him to hate me."

"Why do you think Dean will hate you if you tell him your memory? It seems to me that he doesn't hate you at all."

"It's all I've done my whole life. Hurt Dean. Abandon him. All of last year and the year before, I could see the way he looked at me. Like I was deliberately going darkside just to hurt him, and like I was someone who needed saving and he couldn't, and it was breaking him. That's what I do. I break Dean."

"It takes more than a bad couple of years to break me, Sammy. And it's totally not your fault the devil chose you."

"Do you have any other people in your life, Sam?" Sweets asked. The best thing these two could do, in his professional opinion, was find some other friends. Not sever ties, but find some social support to balance out their messed up relationship.

"No. All my friends were chosen for me by Lucifer, to set me on the path to evil. Or they're dead. Or both."

"Oh," said Sweets.

"I am your friend, Sam," Cas announced.

"You are? I mean, really you're Dean's friend. You're only my friend because you want to make Dean happy. You said I was an abomination."

"That is not true, Sam. You are a very intelligent and well-intentioned person. I feel privileged to know you."

"But you don't know me, really. How many times have you actually had a conversation with me without Dean? You just show up and you and Dean do your staring thing and stand really close together and have conversations with a whole lot of inside jokes, and totally leave me out."

"Are you jealous, Sammy? Because I have a friend? What happened to 'you're antisocial, Dean, you need to make some friends'?" Dean asked, frowning.

Wow, this was getting really good. Sweets was going to have to be really careful how he handled it. Keep in mind the main reason he was here was to keep Sam from going all antichrist on them. Time to divert the conversation for a little while. Sam's eyes were starting to darken, and that was never a good sign.

"Why don't we talk about what happened at the park?"

"It was part of a ritual," Sam said. "They need someone close to Lucifer to sacrifice an innocent."

Sweets was saved from having to process that by his the ringing of his cell-phone.

It was Agent Booth. "We need to speak to the Winchesters," he said.

XXXXXXX


	15. Chapter 15

Bones was describing the Satanist sub-culture of modern North America with surprising and somewhat unnerving enthusiasm. She was quite willing to accept Angela and Hodgins' theory that Gillian Sparrow had been the first sacrifice in a Satanist ritual to bring Lucifer forth to walk the earth. More willing than Booth, even, because Booth had to push past the disbelief that people would actually want Lucifer walking the earth, and Bones just assumed that the cult or coven or whatever hadn't thought it would really work. But Booth had to admit that when he listened to the description of the ritual and ignored Hodgins' theories about government conspiracies, it did sound likely. They would have to call the Winchesters back, though. This was definitely not Booth's area of expertise.

Sweets sounded a little relieved when Booth asked to speak to the Winchesters. It didn't sound like the therapy session was going well. He could hear raised voices in the background. Sweets passed the phone to Dean, who told Booth they would meet him at the diner in fifteen minutes. He sounded annoyed. Great. They were all coming.

The bell over the door jangled as Dean Winchester entered, followed by his brother, his angel, and Sweets. A heavy feeling of foreboding settled in Booth's stomach. This was not going to turn out well. Bones accepted vengeful spirits. She accepted satanic cults performing rituals to raise Lucifer. She would not, however, acknowledge that God existed. She was planning to ask Castiel to prove that a) he was an angel, and b) God was real. Booth did not want to be in the room for that conversation. As much as Bones annoyed him sometimes, with her stubborn refusal to see beyond what she could see proof of, he was pretty sure he was in love with her, and he really didn't want her to get smote. He wasn't sure if his being in the room for that would help. Castiel didn't seem to like him much, and he didn't really know why.

Bones thankfully refrained from opening with her demand for proof. She couldn't get a word in edgeways – the Winchesters and Castiel were having a heated discussion. Sweets was following with a panicked look on his face. One that said _Omigod I asked the wrong question and now the world is going to end..._

Sam's irises were dark, with a little white showing around the edges. He looked less terrifying now, but no more friendly. He was saying sulkily to Castiel: "If we were both dying horribly and you could only save one of us, who would it be?"

Castiel replied immediately. "Dean," he said. No hesitation at all. Ouch.

Sam turned to Sweets and said: "See?"

Sweets looked like he was about to have a panic attack.

As they made their way over to the booth where Booth and the squints sat, Dean was hissing at Castiel, "Dude, you aren't meant to tell him that." But there was a tiny smile on his face that no one was meant to see.

Booth cleared his throat. Sweets looked relieved.

Angela told them about the ritual she and Hodgins had found on the internet. Sweets stopped looking relieved and started turning pale.

"Any idea who arranged it?" Dean asked.

Booth shook his head. "We were thinking we should investigate that side of the case, while you find and destroy the teeth... that should stop it happening, shouldn't it?"

"We need the teeth as evidence, Booth," Bones protested, but Sam interrupted.

"It's the only way to stop the spirit killing more kids. There's more to this ritual than just what it says in the description. Something's binding the spirit to a number of separate locations. Someone needs to do more research. Maybe I should..."

"I don't think... ah... it might not be the best..." Sweets stammered, obviously trying to figure out how to tell Sam he shouldn't without offending him.

"It would be detrimental to our cause if you were to research Satan on the internet at this stage, Sam," said Castiel.

"Well what can I do? I obviously can't go with you guys to burn the teeth, the spirit is trying to get me to kill children... and I can't go with them," Sam gestured at the Squints. "They're terrified of me and I've already tried to kill two of them. Maybe I am just..."

"SAM! YOU ARE NOT EVIL!" Dean shouted. The people at the next three tables looked up.

In the end it was arranged that Booth and Bones would investigate Gillian Sparrow's personal life for clues into who had set up the ritual, on the condition that they wore anti-possession charms, carried holy water, and called Dean immediately if they smelled sulphur or saw someone flinch at the invocation of Christ.

Angela and Hodgins would research the ritual more thoroughly, and call both Dean and Booth the second they found anything. Dean had tried to send Sweets with them too, but Castiel had stopped him, saying: "He must stay with us. We need him to help Sam."

"Bang up job so far," Dean had muttered, but he had let Sweets stay with them.

The Winchesters were going to call someone named Bobby, who apparently knew everything there was to know about... well, everything, and then try to further disturb the ritual. But first they were going to eat pie, because reversing Satanic magic was not something you could do on an empty stomach, and anyway, you couldn't just come into a diner and not eat anything.

XXXX

Gillian Sparrow had no family. Her neighbours said she had been quiet and friendly, and had never done anything objectionable. They had never heard strange chanting, screams, or anything out of the ordinary coming from the house. There were no smells of sulphur, or anything else (the neighbour had looked concerned at that question, asking if there was something wrong with gas main). She occasionally hosted afternoon teas for the teachers from the small private school she taught at, complete with home baking. No one else was ever invited to those, though – when one of the neighbours had shown up in the middle of one to borrow a cup of sugar, she had been dismissed pretty quickly. Gillian hadn't been rude about it though, she'd even promised to bring leftover baking around later.

Crap, the school. Nothing had shown up in the first sweep after Ms. Sparrow's body had been identified, but according to Bones, Satanists loved their secrets rooms. They would have to search it again.

Booth was suddenly very glad he had sent Parker to public school.


	16. Chapter 16

The school was the most likely place for a satanic cult to perform blood sacrifices. If Brennan was writing a book and the teachers were performing satanic rituals, they would use the chemistry lab. It would be easy to clean and no one would give it a second thought if there were odd smells and residues the following day. The Nicholas Academy, where the victim had taught, was an expensive private school that prided itself on introducing children to science at a young age, and had a large science lab.

Examining the lab would have to wait for the following day, though. It was late when Brennan and Booth finished interviewing the victim's neighbours, and they would not be able to enter without a search warrant, which they wouldn't get because they had no real evidence that led them to the school. Instead, they would spend the evening questioning those of Gillian Sparrow's colleagues that her neighbours identified as attending her 'tea parties'.

The first person they questioned was a pleasant young woman who taught third grade. She answered all their questions easily and comfortably, seeming undisturbed by a late night visit by the FBI. Yes, she had been to Mrs Sparrow's afternoon teas. The staff of the school were a tight-knit group; they all hosted afternoon teas occasionally. They were sort of informal staff meetings, simply to discuss classes and the students, and to socialise. No, she hadn't noticed any strange behaviour.

"Do you think she seemed a little too ordinary? Too nice?" Booth asked Brennan as they walked back to the car.

"I certainly would not have been that happy about a visit by the FBI at this time of night," she replied. She knew she wasn't very good at reading people. If Booth hadn't mentioned it, she wouldn't have noticed. Now that he had, she was sure the woman's behaviour was suspicious. She looked back. The curtains were pulled across the living room windows, the indistinct shadow of the teacher cast on it by the bright light of the room. She was pacing. It almost looked like she was on a phone, but the shadow wasn't clear enough to tell.

Booth thought she was. "Probably warning the rest of them," he said.

XXX

She had been. The next two teachers they visited gave them exactly the same information, and did it with large false smiles.

It was interesting. All of the study Brennan had done into the Satanist subculture of modern North America (which admittedly wasn't much compared to her other areas of study) had indicated that people who took up Satanism were usually young adults from the fringes of society, forced into the subculture because of an inability to adapt to the mainstream culture of America. These people did not fit the pattern at all. They were wealthy and appeared conservative. They had steady jobs and families. And yet they had fallen into the sub-culture so deeply that it had led them to murder, or at least be parties to murder. It was inexcusable. Murder always was.

Their final visit of the night was to the home of Mr Nicholas, the principal of the school. The house was large, and the lawn was unnaturally green, even in the dark. Booth rang the bell.

Mr Nicholas was in his late fifties. He wore glasses, and carried some extra weight around his waist. He was wearing striped silk pyjamas. He was very understanding when he saw Booth's badge, apologising for his attire – he had been about to go to bed, and inviting them in.

Brennan and Booth followed him into the living room. Booth seemed tense. She had learnt to read him over the years she had been his partner, and could understand his body language better than anyone else's. He was concerned. He doubted the wisdom of entering the house. Booth must be able to see something in Mr Nicholas that Brennan couldn't, because he did not seem very dangerous to her.

As they entered the living room, they were hit by the overpowering smell of sulphur. Booth surreptitiously handed her his phone. The screen said 'Dean', ready for her to hit the talk button and dial Dean Winchester's number immediately.

What had Dean said? "If you smell sulphur, see someone flinch at the name of Christ, or see someone with black eyes, call me and let it ring. Cas will come help you."

Brennan still had private doubts about Cas. She knew that Booth was thoroughly convinced he was an angel of the Lord, but so far he had done nothing to show that he was one. He could appear and disappear out of thin air, but there was no telling what Supernatural creatures could do that. She could think of at least seven cultures that had myths or lore involving creatures that appeared and disappeared from nowhere. There was no proof that he was an angel, and there was no proof that there was a God. She drifted her thumb over the green button on Booth's phone anyway.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions concerning the death of Gillian Sparrow," Booth began. His hand drifted across his chest to where his gun lay in its shoulder holster.

"You should have left this alone, Booth," Mr Nicholas replied, and his eyes shuttered into blackness.

Brennan pressed the button.

"We just want to fix the world, Booth. Is that so much to ask?" Mr Nicholas began to advance on Booth.

Booth reached for his gun.

"Really, a gun?" The black-eyed principal waved his hand and smiled as Booth's gun skittered across the room. Booth stood his ground and said something in Latin.

Mr Nicholas flinched, but continued: "It's people like you who are ruining the world, Booth. So close-minded. What makes you so sure that God is the Good guy? Just because your bible tells you... Who do you think wrote those books, Booth?"

What had Dean said? Salt? Holy water? Right. Brennan had taken the liberty of filling the tank of a water pistol with the water in the small flask Dean had given her. She drew it.

Booth was still praying in Latin. The demon seemed to want to draw this out.

"You're full of problems, aren't you Booth. No Dean Winchester, but still... all that guilt... the things people do for their country. How many people have you killed, Booth? Why is it OK for you to kill but not for others?"

"That was different," Booth growled, "It was war. It was the only way to protect my country."

"And all that unrequited love... just pining away for your pretty little professor here, and she doesn't even see it. Pathetic, Booth. Maybe I'll just kill her instead. That would be worse for you than your own death, wouldn't?"

The demon turned to her and stepped closer. Brennan fired the water pistol directly at his face.

"Run, Bones!" Booth shouted, as the demon's skin smoked and blistered. They ran.

The door was blocked by two larger demons, black eyes glaring.

They turned to the window. A grey cat stood on the window seat, hissing and arching its back. Its eyes were filled with red.

Brennan and Booth looked around frantically for an exit. The pug that had been snoring gently on the sofa when they entered was up and snarling, eyes as red as the cat's.

To borrow a phrase from Sweets, they were totally screwed.

"Why even bother, Temperance?" The Mr Nicholas demon addressed her.

An invisible force hit her, flinging her across the room and into the wall. It held her against the wall so tightly she couldn't move, couldn't even breathe. Booth was next to her, but she couldn't even turn her head to look at him.

If she got out of this, she promised herself, she was going to take a chance with Booth. Maybe it wouldn't ruin their friendship. Maybe he wouldn't hurt her. Maybe she wouldn't hurt him. She wished she'd told him sooner. Realised sooner.

The demons crowded inward.

The lights flickered, and the demons seemed to freeze. A sudden wind battered the house. The light bulbs burst. The whole air seemed charged with electricity.

Castiel was there. "I apologise for my lateness," he said, "There was an emergency. I was detained." And then: "Close your eyes."

Brennan did.

XXXXX


	17. Chapter 17

The light hurt even through closed eyes. There was a burning pain, and the darkness turned red behind her closed lids. Warm liquid oozed from her eye-sockets. She didn't think it was tears. And the sound – it was terrible, loud, and long, and her ears hurt so much it distracted from the pain in her eyes. Blood was dripping down her neck. She couldn't even move to cover her ears with her hands.

And then the pressure that held her in place was gone, and she was slumping to the floor, hands over ears, curled into a ball. Tiny shards of shattered glass sprayed into her back. She stayed like that for endless minutes.

The noise stopped first, replaced by a silence she could hardly make out behind the ringing of her ears. Darkness fell again suddenly, leaving her with spots of red inside her eyelids and a lingering burning sensation. She stayed as she was.

When she finally opened her eyes, they were sticky. She had to wipe them, and her hand came away red with blood. She looked up, and Castiel was standing over her, saying something inaudible above the ringing of her ears. His trench coat was billowing and his hair stood wildly on end, and a light seemed to be coming from him, making him stand out from the darkness of the room. He seemed angry and powerful, and suddenly she was terrified of him.

Booth was beside her. He was kneeling, head bowed in prayer, hands trembling. He was praying out loud, but she couldn't hear his voice. Dark liquid ran from his ears, too, and she knew it was blood even though the red didn't show up in the darkness. Brennan felt a surge of protectiveness run through her, and closed the gap between them, taking his hand.

Booth squeezed her hand, sparing her a wide-eyed look before returning to his prayer. She still couldn't hear him, but she knew he was including her now.

There was a flash of lightning, and wind buffeted the house. The night had been clear when they had entered the house, and the sudden storm frightened her. Whether Castiel was an angel or not, he was powerful enough to affect the weather. The lightning lit up the room for an instant, and Brennan wished it hadn't. The broken bodies of the men and animals that had blocked their exit were strewn amongst shattered glass and overturned furniture. She crept closer to Booth.

Castiel said something else, and she still couldn't hear him, even though the ringing in her ears was diminishing to a dull whine. She shrank back as he reached a hand towards her forehead, and one towards Booth.

XXXXX

The next time she opened her eyes, she was lying on the floor of what smelled like a cheap motel room. Dean Winchester was looking down at her. His eyes were very green. Not as comforting as brown, she thought, and reached her hand out to feel for Booth.

"Cas busted out the true form, huh?" Dean said, and Brennan was so pleased to be able to hear again she almost hugged him.

"What _was_ that?" She asked, sitting up.

"The Cas you see, the one with the trench coat and the blue eyes, that's his human vessel. Jimmy's gone now, Cas just takes his form because we're used to it. He's more powerful in his true form, with the light and the..." Dean waved his hands around, "Don't worry, your ears will recover."

Dean helped her over to the bed. He had a painful-looking abrasion over his cheekbone, and was favouring his left side, indicating cracked ribs. She was starting to think he might not be such a bad guy after all.

"I didn't believe he was an angel either," Dean told her.

Brennan looked at him in surprise. She hadn't been aware she was so obvious about her disbelief. She had been trying to hide it around them, not because she doubted herself or was afraid to give her opinion, but because Dean and Castiel both clearly believed that Castiel was an angel.

"He stabbed me," Castiel said, and the light within him seemed to have faded so that he seemed like a slightly crazy human in a trench coat again.

"Really? How did he prove he was an angel?" Brennan asked Dean, mostly because she didn't know how to respond to Castiel's comment.

"Belief creeps up on you," Dean said, and turned to check on Booth.

Booth was still praying, lying on the bed Sweets had helped him to. He was staring at Castiel in awe-struck wonder, murmuring under his breath.

Brennan wasn't sure what the expression on Castiel's face was, but if she could pick one it would be a mixture of smugness and annoyance.

"Dude, you can stop praying now. You're pissing Cas off." Dean told him.

Booth looked horrified. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"You know when someone sucks up to you and it's cool at first, but then they keep doing it all the time every time they see you... shades of that."

Booth sat up, looking like he was about to apologise, and then changing his mind. It caused a little ache in her chest to see Booth so unsure of himself. He usually was so confident. It must be hard for him, she thought, to see something that claimed to be a being he believed in with all his heart, and have it not fit the template in his mind.

"So what was this emergency Castiel mentioned? Is everyone OK?" Booth finally settled on asking.

"We're fine. Sam just had a little freak out when the spirit touched him," Dean said, gesturing to his brother, who appeared to be fast asleep on the floor.

Sweets made a strangled noise in his throat.

"Your shrink is tougher than he looks," Dean continued, "Surprisingly good with a crow bar."

Sweets was unusually pale and had a large bruise forming on his jaw. "It was pretty sweet, if I do say so myself," he said gamely.

XXXXXX

**A/N: Do you want a flashback of what happened to Sweets and Dean, or want to keep moving onwards and use your imagination for that? **


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Sorry to all of those who wanted to keep going, you were outvoted. I hope you like it anyway.**

The atmosphere in the diner after Booth and Brennan left to interview suspects was tense. Angela and Hodgins made their excuses pretty quickly, and almost ran out in their hurry to escape. Sweets was left in a diner booth with a sulking anti-Christ, an annoyed angel, and a very tense Dean Winchester. Castiel was looking at looking at him sternly, and Sweets was pretty sure that the look meant _you are meant to be fixing my friend – so fix him._ Only in a more threatening way than that.

Dean broke the silence. "I'm going to call Bobby," he said, "And by the time I get back, Sam will have apologised to Cas for being angry that Cas likes me better than him, and Cas will have stopped thinking about smiting the shrink. And _Dr_ Sweets, here, will have found a way to fix Sam so he won't hulk out while we're icing this bitch." He looked at them sternly and slid out of the Booth, pulling out his cell phone.

_Right_, thought Sweets. _OK. I can fix this. Not. Crap._

"Why does it upset you that Castiel is closer to Dean than you, Sam?" Sweets asked, hoping desperately that this line of questioning would lead to Sam's understanding of his own emotions and self deepening, rather than the other option: a full scale, black-eyed, murderous demonic freak-out in the middle of the Royal Diner.

"Why are you picking on me about being too dependent on Dean? If you want to see someone co-dependent, just look at Cas! Dean's not even nice to him, and he still follows him around like a stalker-puppy! Castiel's obsessed. He used to stand in our motel room and watch Dean sleep. He died for Dean. _Twice._"

Sweets was astounded at the degree to which a part-demon ginormatron who had spent his whole life being manipulated into doing Lucifer's bidding could look like a five-year-old who had just been told he couldn't have a kitten.

Also, watching someone sleep? That was kind of creepy. But no, Sam was deflecting.

"OK, Sam. If you feel like I'm picking on you, I'll alternate. You answer one question, Castiel answers one. Castiel – tell me about Dean. What is it about him that makes you care so deeply?"

Castiel glared at him. Apparently therapy was necessary for others but he objected strongly to it for himself. He glanced over in the direction that Dean had walked.

"Dean has had a difficult life, but even in hell his soul shone brightly. He is the best example of humanity I have ever met. He is beautiful."

"How many humans have you met, Cas? I mean actually had a conversation with?" Sam asked.

"Several," said Castiel.

"OK..." said Sweets, "Sam's turn. Sam, why does it trouble you that Castiel cares so strongly for Dean?"

"It used to just be me and Dean. Brothers. Best friends. Then he went to hell, and he came back and everything had changed. He looked at me different. And he kept telling me I was making the wrong choices; I trusted the wrong people, that I was going evil. I didn't listen to him. I was trying to help, and I felt like he kept talking about what Cas said. And then he was right. I started the apocalypse and Dean gave Cas his amulet, and we split up and he started hanging out with Cas more. He only took me back because he thought I'd give in to Lucifer if he didn't. Sometimes I think he doesn't even like me anymore."

"But you know that isn't true, Sam," Sweets told him. "Dean obviously still cares very deeply about you, and he truly believes that you aren't evil. Otherwise he would not be going to all this effort to help you. It is good for you to have separate friends. It means you won't be focussing all of your attention on each other, so you are less likely to smother each other."

Sam nodded slowly, thinking it through. The white around his irises was widening, the black irises fading to hazel. Sweets let out a sigh of relief.

Dean came back just as Sweets was about to ask Castiel his next question. Bobby had told him that there was probably a binding symbol carved into the base of the tree the tooth lay under at every place in the circle. They would probably have to burn all of the symbols as well as the teeth before the spirit could be permanently laid to rest.

"Let's go," Dean said, and Sweets resigned himself to continuing the session later. Sam was alright for now, anyway.

XXXX

Sweets had assumed that the teeth that had been scattered in a circle all around the city would all be in public places. Parks and such. Turned out he was wrong. Dean had come back from his phone call holding a map of D.C., the pattern of the ritual marked on it in red. The circle was perfectly even, the space between the sites of the ritual exactly measured. Turned out the next one was right in the middle of someone's backyard.

He didn't like creeping into people's backyards in the middle of the night, Sweets decided. It made him feel like a criminal. Not that it was actually the middle of the night. It was dark, though, and all the lights were off in the house. Either the inhabitants were already in bed, or they were out. Sweets was hoping for out. Out and not coming back tonight.

It was simple – find a poisonous tree with a tooth under it. Salt and burn the tooth. Salt and burn the tree. Make sure the house doesn't catch on fire. Move on to the next spot in the circle. And all the time, watch out for the spirit of Gillian Sparrow and don't let Sam go evil. Awesome. That would be easy.

And it would have been, if it weren't for the neighbours.

They found the tooth relatively easily. It was at the base of a Belladonna bush – at least, that's what Sam said it was, and it concerned Sweets slightly, because, as Dean said, who the hell grows Deadly Nightshade in their garden. In the beam of Dean's flashlight, a small symbol could clearly be seen carved into the thick central stem of the plant.

So, it was all good. Sweets even got to pour salt on the tooth. And then two things happened.

From across the fence, a voice asked roughly: "What the hell are you doing in Jackie and Steve's yard?"

At the same time, the air got very, very cold.

"Light it, damn it!" Dean ordered, throwing his lighter to Sweets.

"I'm calling the police!" said the neighbour.

The ghost of Gillian Sparrow flickered into being behind Sam.

"I am warning you, I have a gun," said the neighbour.

"So do I," said Dean, firing rock salt at the spirit.

The spirit dissipated, reappearing a short distance away. "Join us, Sam. Let your true nature shine through. The angel was lying. Your soul is black. You cannot escape it."

The voice sounded like wind rushing through a tunnel. If Sweets had not already been trembling, it would have made him shiver.

"What's going on?" Another voice came from the fence on the other side of the yard.

"Burn the damn tooth, Sweets!" Dean shouted.

The neighbours were climbing over the fences into the yard, and it wasn't just the two of them now. There were at least six, and more coming from the back of the yard.

"Stop them," one of the dark shadows commanded. "The ritual must not be disrupted."

And then Sweets was being clocked over the head by someone hard and heavy and metallic.

When he woke up, Dean had lost his gun, and was locked in furious hand-to-hand combat with two solid silhouettes. Castiel was whirling around, laying fingers to foreheads, sending people slumping to the ground. The spirit was closing in on Sam.

Sam was slashing at it with an iron bar, but it kept flickering just out of reach, all the time whispering to him in that awful wind-tunnel voice.

"No," Sam was repeating, over and over. "No, I won't. I am not evil. I am not evil. I am not..."

Even as Sweets reached for the crowbar that lay just out of his reach, beside the unconscious body of one of the neighbours, he saw the ghost dart inside Sam's range, and shove a hand into his chest.

Sweets couldn't see Sam's eyes in the dark, but he was willing to bet they had just gone black.

Dean's cell phone began to ring.

Sam growled and moved his hand in a swiping motion. All of the neighbours left standing flew across the yard and slammed heavily into the ground. Sam stepped forward, pulling out a knife. The blade glinted in the moonlight.

"Christ! Where did he get that? Stop him Cas!" Dean shouted, rolling to his feet from where he had fallen during his fight.

Dean ran over to where Sweets was lying. "Lighter," he demanded.

Sweets handed it over to him. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing the crowbar.

Castiel was standing between Sam and the unconscious figure of one of the men who had been fighting Dean. "I don't want to hurt you, Sam. Put the knife down," he said.

But Gillian Sparrow was still beside Sam, whispering to him.

"Why did I ever think things could go back to the way they were? Why should I even fight this? There is nothing left for me here. But this darkness... it makes me strong. You have no idea how good it feels..." Sam was saying.

"You cannot harm me, Sam. I have... gone up a pay-grade. Several, in fact. Stand down."

Sweets crept up behind Sam, trying to ignore the fear that fluttered inside him. He could feel acid bubbling inside his stomach. The spirit was right there. If he could just make her disappear for a few seconds, maybe she would lose her grip on Sam. Maybe Sam would see through the whispers, and remember how he had been feeling before they had come, the progress he had been making.

Sweets lifted the iron crow bar over his head and swung with all his strength. The bar tore through the ghost, ripping her apart, and landed with a nasty crunch on the back of Sam Winchester's head. Sam crumpled to the ground, knife falling from his hand.

Sweets looked in horror at what he had done. His heart was in his mouth, and he felt horribly sick. The crowbar slipped from his hand.

"He is not dead," Castiel told him, laying a hand on Sam's head. There was a glow of light, and Sam groaned, trying to move. Castiel placed two fingers on his forehead. "Go to sleep, Sam," he said.

A bright, red glow came from the other side of the yard, where Dean stood beside the burning Belladonna bush. The newly re-formed ghost of Gillian Sparrow shrieked and exploded in a rush of flames.

"I must go," Castiel said, and disappeared.

XXXX

By the time they finally made it back to Dean's motel, Sweets wanted nothing more than to sleep for a hundred years, but he couldn't. Not until he knew Booth and Brennan were alright.


	19. Chapter 19

"...Friggin' neighbourhood watch. Whoever's organising this has probably got minions planted around every one of those sites," Dean was saying. He had kindly left out the bit of the story where the knocking-out of Sam had been an accident. Maybe he didn't realise it was. All the same, Sweets was glad he had. He was almost sure there was a newfound respect in Booth's gaze. He had finally been a hero, and even though it scared the crap out of him, it was a good feeling.

They went to bed shortly after that, bunking down wherever they would fit. Dr Brennan and Agent Booth lay together in one bed, for once not even pretending they didn't want to. The other bed was harder to sort out. Dean objected strongly to sharing with Sweets, but under Castiel's pointed stare he caved and just mumbled at Sweets to keep his hands to himself.

Before exhaustion dragged him into sleep, Sweets had two thoughts. The first was that he should probably call Daisy in the morning, and the second was that Sam had been right about the Castiel-watching-Dean-sleep thing. It was a little disturbing.

He was woken by something sharp slamming into his ribcage. His first thought was that they were being attacked, and he fumbled for the salt on the bedside table. Then he heard the harsh, quick breaths coming from the man next to him, and the terrible low moaning, and realised it had been an elbow.

Dean thrashed again. "No... No... NO!"

Sweets reached to flick the switch of the bedside lamp, but then Castiel was beside Dean, placing his fingers on his forehead.

"Rest, Dean."

Dean lay still and breathed easily.

Nightmares. Bad ones, by the sounds of things. Maybe Cas was right about PTSD. No wonder Dean looked so tired all the time, if this was what happened every time he closed his eyes.

"You too, Dr Sweets," Castiel told him quietly, and he felt a deep and restful sleep wash over him. He dreamed about fishing, and never had to bait a hook or see a dead fish.

XXXX

Sweets awoke refreshed. Turned out there was something to be said for having an angel watching over you as you slept, even if it was only by virtue of being in the same bed as the person the angel was really watching over. Sitting up and looking around, he saw Booth and Brennan wrapped around each other in the next bed and Sam Winchester at the table with his laptop. Dean and Cas were nowhere to be seen. Sweets tried to pretend he wasn't nervous about being in the same room as Sam without his brother and failed miserably. Even without the black eyes and throbbing neck veins, Sam was pretty imposing. And Sweets _had _knocked him out with a crowbar the night before.

He didn't have to wait long, though. Dean and Cas turned up with breakfast soon enough. Dean looked much better than he had the previous day. The nightmare-free sleep must have been as good for him as it had been for Sweets. He looked less troubled and even smiled a little at something Cas said, but the look was still there in his eyes. Sweets couldn't remember the last person he had wanted to help this much.

Breakfast was interrupted by a call from Angela and Hodgins, who seemed not to realise that 8am might be a little early to stomach talking about ritual blood sacrifices. Of course, they hadn't spent most of the night fighting off demons or Satan-worshippers. They had just been doing research (and wasn't it interesting that they were together at 8am?), and had found something they thought might be important.

The ritual required five hundred worshippers.

The school was probably a good place to start. Booth said he was willing to bet that those kids were being brainwashed to follow Satan.

XXX

Sweets hardly got a chance to finish his breakfast before he was being dragged off to burn stuff. They were going to destroy the tooth and symbol at as many sites as they could fit in today, doing the ones in relative seclusion during the day, and the ones in people's backyards and inside office buildings at night. They needed to hurry, Dean insisted. At the rate they were going it was going to take a month, and they didn't have that kind of time.

There had been an awkward moment after that. Sam had taken it the wrong way and made a sort of tense, annoyed face. If Sweets wasn't such a professional, and so afraid of Sam, he would have called it 'pissy'. Sam didn't say anything, but there was a silent conversation between the brothers, ending with a tiny shrug from Dean which seemed to mean 'I'm sorry'. When Sweets finally got to his therapy session with Dean, the first thing they were going to talk about was how to use his words to express his feelings.

They left Booth and Bones to investigate the school, and drove away to the first site of the day in Dean's sweet car.

Sweets couldn't help noticing that Booth's hand lingered in the small of Dr Brennan's back as they said their goodbyes.

XXX

It was mid-afternoon and they had destroyed teeth at two locations before Sweets had the chance to talk to Dean alone. Dean was pouring lighter fluid and salt over the tooth they had found under a Yew tree in a small wooded area, while Sweets guarded his back with his iron crowbar, and Sam stood some distance away, Castiel beside him with a sawn-off loaded with salt.

"Do you get nightmares like that often?" Sweets asked casually.

"Is this really a good time for a heart-to-heart?" Dean asked, tipping gasoline on the trunk of the yew.

Sweets swung the crowbar through the flickering figure of Gillian Sparrow.

"It sounded really bad, and you elbowed me in the ribs. I need to know if I should warn people not to share a bed with you," Sweets tried to make it come out jokingly. "But seriously, does that happen every night? That can't be pleasant. I can help you with it, if you just talk to me."

"Talking about it's not gonna make it go away. Nothing can make it go away," Dean said, "And no, it's not every night. Some nights I don't sleep." He lit a match with unnecessary force, and dropped it onto the tooth. Flames leapt up, and the now familiar shrieking of the ghost burning up came from behind them.

Dean stared, transfixed, as the flames spread to the tree.

Castiel appeared beside them. "Agent Booth and Doctor Brennan require our assistance," he announced.


	20. Chapter 20

Booth had woken up with Bones in his arms and it had felt good, even if it was just the result of an extremely stressful situation and a motel room with too few beds. Booth had seen Sweets give him that look when they had been making the sleeping arrangements, and yeah, maybe he had come across as a little overeager to share with Bones, but she wouldn't be comfortable sharing a bed with Sweets, and she sure as hell wasn't sleeping with Dean. There were stories within the FBI about this guy and how he thought he was God's gift to women. Worryingly, it seemed like Dean really might be God's gift. Maybe not just to women, maybe to everyone. But even if that was true, Booth didn't want him in the same bed as Bones. She'd already explained in great detail why Dean was physically attractive – something about symmetry and shoulder-to-hip ratio. But it had all ended fine. Bones hadn't even objected when he had put his arms around her in the night.

Now it was back to reality, though. Booth laughed. He never thought he'd say that about investigating a school for signs of a demonic ritual to raise Satan. They said goodbye to the others and headed off to the school.

They were greeted at the office by a friendly grey-haired woman, who offered them tea while they waited to speak to the acting principal. Booth politely declined. It was probably poisoned.

The wait was short. The grey-haired lady waved them into the principal's office. Inside, behind the desk, sat a businesslike woman of forty or so. She was remarkably calm considering the violent death of the principal the night before. She introduced herself as Ms Keppler.

"I suppose you've come about Mr Nicholas?" she asked, "Terrible. Just terrible." She didn't look particularly upset.

"We would like to take a look around the school," Booth told her.

She nodded slowly. "I would prefer you didn't disrupt the children. Some of them have taken the death of their Principal hard. He was well liked."

"We understand. We'll do our best. If you don't mind, we'd like to start here."

"There is about to be a memorial assembly for Mr Nicholas in the auditorium if you would like to attend."

"We'd rather not," Bones said. Booth elbowed her subtly.

"Of course we'll attend," he said.

As they followed the replacement principal to the auditorium, Bones whispered loudly, "You know they're trying to distract us so they can hide the evidence, don't you?"

"I know, Bones," Booth replied.

If he hadn't already thought that Ms Keppler was evil, the look she gave him now would have done the trick.

The auditorium was silent when they entered. There were three hundred children in it, ranging in age from five to twelve, and not one of them was speaking. They weren't even fidgeting. It was unnatural. When Ms Keppler greeted them, she was immediately met with an enthusiastic "Good Morning, Ms Keppler", spoken in perfect unison by three hundred young voices. Booth was hit with a sudden image of choruses of "Heil, Hitler!" ringing out from ranks of teenage Nazis.

Bones nudged him, and was about to begin a long explanation of the anthropological significance of brainwashing, but the room fell silent once more and Booth had to shush her.

The doors swung shut.

Ms Keppler began her speech. "We have lost one of our number," she said. "The loss was a terrible thing. Mr Nicholas was a faithful man, an excellent teacher, and was cut down before he could finish his mission to bring about change to the world."

Bring about change by attempting to raise Lucifer from hell. What a great guy.

"We must continue his work. The rising will be in eight days, and we must be ready, children. Have you been rehearsing your part?"

Booth was starting to realise just how much trouble they were in. What had he been thinking, coming in here? They had definitely not thought this through properly, and now they were locked in an auditorium with three hundred brainwashed Satan-worshipping children, at least twelve Satanist teachers, and probably some demons.

The children were chanting something in a language that wasn't quite Latin.

"Booth," said Bones, "We need to get out of here. Now."

They sidled towards the exit. A large, muscular man blocked their path.

The chanting stopped.

"Children, we have some of those who do not believe in the righteous path of the Light-bringer with us. Agent Booth, Dr Brennan, why don't you join me on stage."

There was nothing they could do but climb up the steps to the stage.

Ms Keppler spoke directly to Booth, and her eyes were black. "You are disappointed, aren't you Booth? The soldier of heaven did not meet your expectations. I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Heaven does not care about you. Heaven doesn't care about anyone. The hosts are too busy infighting and searching for their absent father to bother with the mud-monkeys. But our master, he knows human failings, flaws, and he will reward those who are faithful. He's not what your precious bible makes him out to be... he just understands that sometimes people want to have fun."

Booth glared at her. Suddenly, the small flask of holy water he carried did not seem enough.

"Take them to the chemistry lab," Ms Keppler ordered, "Their blood will be useful for restoring the ritual."

XXX

Four teachers manhandled Booth and Bones to the chemistry lab. It was clean and gleaming, with white fittings and a demonstration table at the front. Booth twisted out of the holds of his captors as they dragged him over to the table. He landed a strong right hook on the jaw of the smaller one, who staggered backwards. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his partner slam her knee into the groin of one of the men who held her. Excellent. Booth reached for his flask of holy water and twisted off the lid, all the while holding off his attackers with legs and elbows. He flung the water in the face of the closest man. The man hardly blinked.

Not a demon. Booth wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He pulled out his gun.

"Do it Booth, shoot me," the teacher said. "How many people have you killed? Satan will love you."

Booth hesitated. "Don't listen to him, Booth! Shoot the bastard!" Bones yelled.

Booth pulled the trigger.

The man dropped, but there was someone behind him now. Booth only saw a shadow before something heavy connected with the back of his head.

When he came to, he was splayed on the demonstration table, handcuffed to it by wrists and ankles. On the next table over, Bones was in a similar position. She was speaking. When the words finally made it through his addled mind, he realised she was praying. Praying to Castiel.

XXX


	21. Chapter 21

They just left him there. Left him on his own with Sam, while they went off to help Booth and Brennan. It was an emergency, Castiel said, and he and Dean had to go _right now_. He couldn't carry three, and they couldn't leave Sam on his own. Castiel had zapped off with Dean before Sweets had time to argue, and now Sweets was left alone with Sam, all the way across the city from home, and he was under no circumstances allowed to drive Dean's car. Awesome. Sweets would have suspected it was a sneaky way for Cas to get Dean alone, except that he'd said it was Dr Brennan praying, and Brennan still didn't believe in God and angels, even after the events of the past two days. It would take something seriously bad to get her to pray.

"So..." said Sam, awkwardly.

"So..." said Sweets.

"We should just stay here, then. Dean said we should stay here and wait for them."

"Yeah, we should stay here."

There was a pause.

"I don't feel very helpful," Sweets said.

"Me neither. I don't think this is helping me believe in my value to the team," Sam said.

"It's very important that you understand what a valuable contribution you make, and that you can really want to help humanity. If you remember that, it will help the next time you feel yourself slipping away."

"Dean never said I couldn't drive his car..." Sam trailed off.

And that's how Sweets came to be sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, examining the map, while Sam followed his directions.

The nearest tooth was inside an office building. Sam vetoed that on the grounds that all the cubicle drones would be either brainwashed into Satanism or just really, really bored and extremely enthusiastic about expelling intruders from their place of work, particularly if those intruders were messing with their pot plants.

They went to someone's backyard instead.

Sweets couldn't help feeling a little nervous as he watched Sam expertly load the shotgun. He looked around jumpily. He really hoped there were no police around.

"We usually do this at night," Sam said, handing him his trusty crowbar and a can of gasoline. "If anyone questions you, we're in pest control and home maintenance."

They walked around the back of the house. There was an elderly lady attacking a flower bed heartily with a trowel. Sam hastily hid the shotgun behind him as she looked up.

"Who are you?" The woman asked suspiciously.

"Pest control, ma'am," Sweets told her.

"I didn't call an exterminator. You're here to rob me, aren't you? Well, I've got nothing to steal."

"This is 184 Wiltshire, isn't it?" Sam asked.

"Get out before I call the police."

They left.

"We got the wrong place?" Sweets asked hopefully. This was looking like a worse and worse idea by the second.

"No," said Sam, reaching into the trunk for something, "I saw a Rhododendron with the symbol carved at the base."

"Maybe we should just come back when it's dark."

"She's seen us now. If we wait that long the place will be swarming with the 'neighbourhood watch'. We have to take care of this now." Sam pulled a thick rope and a set of handcuffs out of the trunk.

Oh, Sweets _really_ didn't like where this was going.

"We can't tie her up!" he exclaimed.

"We don't really have a choice," Sam said, all business. "She's probably evil, if it helps."

Sweets looked at Sam. His eyes were not black. There were no throbbing veins in his neck. He looked relaxed. He had a shotgun in one hand, a large rope looped over his shoulder, and a pair of handcuffs in his other hand, and he looked relaxed. _Crap. _Sweets was in way over his head. And he was starting to think that the doubts Sam had about his own goodness were not entirely about the influence of the demon blood._ Come on, Sweets, you're a psychologist, think!_

"You know what we need? A distraction. We can get someone to distract her while we set fire to her garden."

"Who? Wasn't the idea of this to prove our worth to the team? I think Dean and Cas are a little busy right now. And it sounded like Agent Booth and Doctor Brennan were kind of... tied up. We have limited resources here... It's not like I enjoy tying people up... sometimes you have to do something not very nice for the greater good."

Sweets would have liked to point out where that train of thought had got Sam last time, but he didn't think it would be helpful.

"Sam," he said, "When does doing something for the greater good ever turn out well? Haven't you seen Hot Fuzz?"

Sam looked dejected. "I just want to help. I need to show Dean that I'm still on his side, and I can still help save the world without going darkside again. I'm just slowing him down and hurting him if he has to keep looking over his shoulder for me."

Sam leaned back against the car and Sweets let out a silent sigh of relief.

"We need to find a way to help without asking Dean for help and without tying her up," Sweets told him. "You'll only feel guilty about it later if we do it, and that will set your recovery back significantly." He wasn't actually sure that Sam would. Sam was difficult to read at times, and the heart-thumping fear Sweets felt every time Sam stood up to his full height didn't help.

"OK. A distraction. We're going to need at least two people to take out the spirit, though."

Sweets had an idea. He took out his cell phone and pressed number one on his speed dial.

XXX

"Well, Lancelot – What's so important you couldn't ask me over the phone?" Daisy asked, running over to where Sweets and Sam stood leaning against the Impala.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sweets saw Sam recoil slightly at Daisy's overpowering cheerfulness. Daisy had that effect on people sometimes. She would be an awesome distraction.

XXX


	22. Chapter 22

Brennan was handcuffed to a table in the chemistry lab of a school of Satan-worship run by demons. Under ordinary circumstances, being handcuffed to a table would be emotionally disturbing, but not a hopeless situation. However, these were not ordinary circumstances, because Booth was both unconscious and handcuffed to the next table (wrists and ankles). Brennan felt it was safe to assume that he wouldn't be saving her this time. And so, because desperate times call for desperate measures, Brennan was praying. Not to God, of course. It wasn't rational to pray to someone for whom there was not even circumstantial evidence, and if she lost her rationality now, she had nothing. But Castiel claimed to be an angel; he could teleport; and Booth was certain he was telling the truth. So Brennan was praying to Castiel, without much hope.

Booth woke up as she was praying, and looked over at her, smiling slightly. At first she was confused, because it seemed an inappropriate time to smile, but then she realised that this was not a happy smile, or a smile because Booth thought something was funny. Booth was smiling his approval because she was praying. And maybe there was something else in there too. Affection. Love? Brennan smiled back, because if she was going to die, it was sort of comforting that Booth was there, even if he couldn't do anything to stop it.

Ms Keppler was approaching the table where Brennan lay, and Brennan broke off her awkward prayer. She could only hope that Ms Keppler, or the demon inside her, was a talker, and death would be postponed until someone figured out where they were. Praying didn't seem to be working.

"Well, well, Temperance," the demon said, "aren't you the little hypocrite, praying when you need help and denying the existence of a higher power in the good times. We could use your type. People who see things in black and white and have complete conviction that they are always right. People who uphold a rigid set of morals to others, but are ready to turn their backs on those rules when it suits them..."

Brennan wanted to argue with that, say it wasn't true, but the demon was already talking again.

"I mean, you catch murderers for a living. You live to put those sons-of-bitches behind bars, because murder is _wrong_. And yet, your own father, a thief, a liar, and a murderer walks free because you conspired to convince the jury he was innocent even though you knew he was guilty!"

She had a point. But there was a difference between what her father had done, killing to protect his family, and what these people were doing. Creating a vengeful spirit to kill children in a ritual to raise the devil and take over the earth was inexcusable, and no matter how much they argued that Lucifer was misunderstood, it would never be acceptable.

Ms Keppler turned to Booth and spoke to him, as the men who had hauled them to the lab moved in to loom over Brennan.

"And you, Booth. Lucifer will value someone like you. So much death on your hands..."

"He was a soldier," Brennan protested. Booth seemed to be struggling for words.

"You think that excuses you, Booth? You were a soldier, and now you are sorry, so it's OK that you killed all those people? Well I've got news for you. All the penitence in the world couldn't save you from hell, and as for good intentions... they never helped anyone. Just look at Sam Winchester. All he wanted to do was look after his brother and get revenge on the demon that killed Dean, and now he's going to be the one that brings Lucifer to earth. He might as well just accept it and learn to like it, because Lucifer will reward him greatly. And you should too."

One of the men was leaning over Brennan. He was just a man. He didn't flinch when she said "Christo," and had merely blinked when she had flung holy water in his face. He was just a man, and yet he was willing to murder in cold blood on the order of a supernatural being from hell. There was a knife in his hand. It was silver, and double edged, ornately wrought with symbols Brennan didn't recognise. It was ceremonial, and sharp, and the point was at her throat.

Booth was yelling something, but Brennan couldn't understand him because the tip of the dagger was drawing blood, and she could feel it dripping down her throat to pool above her clavicle.

"Booth?" she said.

"Bones?" Booth said.

"I love you," she told him.

"I..." Booth began, but was interrupted.

The ceremonial dagger clattered to the floor as the man was ripped away from her. He let out a howl of pain, and followed his knife to the floor, landing hard and lying still. Castiel stood where the man had been, a sneaky half-smile on his face and a red-stained blade in his hand. Then he whirled away, anticipating an attack from behind and meeting Ms Keppler with his sword.

Brennan looked across to where Booth lay, still handcuffed to the table. His hand slowly formed a thumbs-up sign. Brennan made one back.

Behind Booth's table, Dean Winchester brought the back end of his gun into the head of the man standing guard over Booth, and the man collapsed, but a second guard was there immediately, slamming his fist hard into Dean's face. Brennan hoped it hadn't broken anything – Dean had nearly perfect bone structure, and it would be a shame for that to be ruined. He was a good fighter, too. Surprisingly good. Before now, he had seemed vulnerable. Broken. Like an old man and a little boy in need of protection, at once. But now he seemed alive again, and strong. Dean was a big man, Brennan realised. And he hadn't given up, not completely.

And then it was all over. The man Dean was fighting dropped to the floor, and Castiel came back into view.

"The demon is back in hell," Castiel informed them.

Despite the trembling of her body as the adrenalin left it, and the wetness of the tears on her face, Brennan felt a little disappointed to have missed it.

"You take her out of here and come back for us," Dean said to Castiel, "We'll barricade ourselves in here 'til you get back. There's no other way out past all those people." He bent over the handcuff on Booth's left wrist, fiddling with a piece of wire.

Castiel touched the metal loop on her wrist and it fell away.

"Show off," said Dean.

And then Castiel leaned close to her and placed two fingers on her forehead.

"Bend your knees," he said.

XXX


	23. Chapter 23

Daisy was an excellent distraction. She had seemed a little reluctant at first, but when she realised that the alternative was tying an elderly woman up she took to her task like a trooper. Sweets could hear her espousing enthusiastically on the merits of a 'deliciously fruit-scented glossy conditioning treatment with a free make-up remover on purchase'. She had found the bottles in the glove compartment of her car, and Sweets strongly suspected she had filched them from a hotel room. The senior citizen had been somewhat overwhelmed by her enthusiasm, and had found herself inviting Daisy in. If Daisy hadn't found her calling examining rotted corpses, she would have made an awesome salesperson. People would by stuff just to get her to stop talking. Not that Sweets didn't like her talking. On the contrary, he found it endearing. It was just that some people (take Sam Winchester for instance) seemed to find themselves growing unaccountably furious in her presence.

"Would you like a demonstration? Absolutely free... You'll love it! Where's your bathroom?" Daisy was saying. Sam gestured Sweets onward, and Sweets followed him around the corner of the house, ducking below the window frame to keep out of sight.

The Rhododendron was a full-sized tree, with bright pink flowers hanging down like bunches of bells. The symbol was carved into the base, and below it, loosely covered by falling leaves, was the tooth. It was a molar. It shocked Sweets a little that he no longer flinched at the sight. He was starting to understand how easy it was for this job, hunting to lead you to a place where the idea of tying up innocent old ladies didn't disturb you. Sweets poured salt on the tooth and the base of the tree, then doused everything liberally in gasoline. He was just about to light the match when he heard Sam swearing loudly behind him.

"Hurry up!" Sam ordered, swinging his iron bar through Mrs Sparrow.

Goosebumps rose on Sweets' arms, and he could feel the thin sheen of sweat he had worked up in the pressure of stopping Sam tying people up harden into ice. Oh, this was not good.

He lit the match. It was out before it hit the ground.

"Sammy! Why are you doing this?" Someone asked Sam. It wasn't Dean or Cas, or anyone Sweets knew. He had an English accent. Sweets really, really wanted to turn around and see who it was, but he didn't, because he needed to light this freakin' match.

"Crowley," Sam growled.

"Really, Sam, you could be a little friendlier. I'm here to help."

"Why should I trust you?" Sam asked.

The wind-tunnel voice of Gillian Sparrow's spirit was back, and it sent chills through to Sweets' bones. "Show your true nature, Sam Winchester..." she said. Sweets lit another match, and again the flame blew out immediately.

"Did I not just help you avert the apocalypse, you great moose?" Crowley asked.

"Have you given Bobby back his soul yet?"

Sweets felt the rush of air against his back as Sam swung his bar again. It was faster, more violent, and narrowly missed his head on the follow-through. Another match fell spent to the ground.

Dammit! He should never have come. He was a psychologist, for God's sake! Not a ghost hunter or even a cop. He should have just stayed where Dean had told him to, and not tried to be a hero. And now they were trespassing in someone's backyard, carrying weapons, and attempting arson. Daisy wouldn't be able to distract the yard's owner much longer, the matches were nearly used up, and they were in the company of a vicious ghost and someone that Sweets was pretty sure was a demon. They were screwed.

Sam was getting angry.

"I may have said I'd give it back, but I didn't say when," Crowley said smugly, "Consider it safekeeping. Now, do you want me to help with this whole 'stopping Lucifer walking the earth' situation, or not?"

"He's a demon, Sam..." the voice of the spirit said.

Sweets wondered if this was a critical enough situation to pray to Castiel. The Booth and Bones situation had sounded pretty serious, but he could really go for some back-up right now.

"Yes, but I'm on your side," Crowley said calmly, "any friend of Bobby's is a friend of mine."

"Doesn't he smell delicious...? Can't you hear the blood pumping in his veins...?"

What the hell? What was it talking about? And then, as another match fizzled out, Sweets remembered. Demon blood addiction. He'd thought it was a metaphor. He was beginning to think that Dr Brennan had the right idea about figurative language. He was going to start taking everything literally from now on.

"Remember all that power, Sam? The blood makes you strong. Crowley is the King of the Crossroads... Way up the chain of command in hell. Think of the rush! Think of the strength!"

"Now, now. No need for any of that," Crowley was saying.

Sweets' last match broke in half and wouldn't light at all. He closed his eyes to pray, but wasn't really sure what to say.

There was a crack as a twig broke, and a rustling of leaves, and a whoosh. A rush of heat leapt up in front of him, and the spirit shrieked as it burnt. Had Castiel actually answered his prayers, even though he was busy saving Booth and Brennan?

Sweets opened his eyes. Hodgins grinned back at him from where he crouched behind a bush a few yards away.

"Sodium and water. Lights every time," Hodgins said. "Where should really go before someone calls 911."

Sweets turned to look at Sam. A flush had come into his skin, and a vein throbbed in his forehead. His eyes had darkened, and he had taken up the stance again; the predator's body language he had shown when he had first kidnapped Sweets. Crowley was gone.

XXX

"How did you find us," Sweets asked, when they reached Hodgins' mini. Angela and Daisy sat inside.

"We tracked the GPS in your cell phone," Angela told him, "We've got something to tell you about the ritual."

XXX


	24. Chapter 24

Angela and Hodgins had been researching for hours. Hodgins had re-examined the particulates from the bones, and they had narrowed down the source of the candles to five stores within the DC area, three of them being 'wiccan suppliers' that also sold the herbs found on the bones. The original burial site had been a little harder to track down, but the high proportion of copper in the soil pointed to a region not far out of DC. Dr Brennan had said the skeleton was missing a femur, and it was likely that it had been lost as they shifted the body, so their best hope of finding it was probably to look in that area. The area was huge, though. Angela couldn't see much hope.

Angela had been searching the internet for more in depth and reliable sources of information about the ritual, and was gathering scraps of information together to get a true picture of the ritual. So far she had gathered that the final part, after the distribution of the teeth and the reburial of the body, required five hundred worshippers and had to take place on the full moon. The full moon was in two days. The various websites had different descriptions, all competing for most disturbing. One said that a child must be killed by the flesh of Lucifer, whatever that meant. Another said a virgin. One didn't specifically state that a murder had to take place, just that one born innocent must give himself over to evil. The websites, of course, were not exactly reliable sources, named things like 'Hell Worship Station' and 'We Support Voldemort'. A few directed her to sellers of rare and antique books, though and when she investigated them she found one of them to be one of the 'wiccan supply' stores that also sold candles and herbs.

That was how Angela and Hodgins came to be in 'Circle of Light –apothecary and antique books'. They didn't investigate too thoroughly, because the store was dark, and smelled strange, and quite frankly gave Angela the creeps. Big time. She could tell it was freaking Hodgins out, too, because he was tense and irritable. The shop assistant was wrinkled and frowning, dressed all in black. Her eyes were very dark, and she hung back in the shadows as she served them. They scanned the shelves quickly, and allowed themselves to be hugely over charged for their purchases.

Back at Hodgins' apartment, they examined the books, and that was when Angela found it. The oldest book they had bought, leather bound, with pages made out of something Angela was really glad she couldn't identify, had genuine instructions for the ritual. From what she could work out, the final prayer to Lucifer had to be chanted by five hundred worshippers at midnight in two days' time. It would only work if in the days leading up to the assembly, the human closest to Lucifer declared his faith and loyalty to the devil, succumbing to evil.

They had to call Sweets. Let him know that he had to stop Sam Winchester joining Lucifer in order to stop Satan being raised. Angela had not liked the description of the consequences _at all_.

Sweets' cell phone went straight to voicemail. So did Brennan's. And Booth's. And Dean's. A feeling of foreboding fell over Angela. The only reason no-one would answer was if there was trouble. Big trouble.

Angela hacked into the server at the cell phone company, and they tracked the GPS in Sweets' phone. They found him in half an hour.

They ran into Daisy on her way out of a house. She informed them breathlessly that she had been selling hotel-room conditioner to the inhabitant for over half an hour, and couldn't distract her any longer, and there should have been a fire by now.

Angela went and asked to use the bathroom, while Hodgins went round the back of the house to help out.

Ten minutes later, they were all back at Hodgins' mini, two blocks away, and black smoke was rising from the woman's backyard. Sweets looked flustered, Hodgins looked excited, and Sam looked scary. And... hungry? Whatever it was, it freaked her out, and she didn't want to tell Sweets what the book said in front of Sam.

Turned out she didn't have to, because that was when Dean and Cas showed up.

Angela hadn't seen Dean get angry. She'd seen him sad, and defeated, and disbelieving. She'd seen him tired and frustrated. She'd even seen him faintly amused. But now Dean was angry. Really angry. He'd hardly appeared out of nowhere – and Angela was never going to get used to that - before he started yelling. It didn't really seem to be aimed at anyone. Just the sort of indiscriminate yelling of a parent whose children had disobeyed him and almost got themselves killed.

"We told you to stay where you were! And then we get back and you're gone! And the Impala's gone! Do you know what could have happened? And don't try to tell me that went well!" Dean yelled. Then he seemed to catch hold of himself, and reel himself back in. Pack himself up so all his feelings were wound up tightly inside himself. It made Angela sad. He was choking the life out of himself.

"We wanted to help, Dean. We were trying to help you." Sam said angrily.

"You wanted to help?" Dean asked, sarcastically. "Why don't you try listening to me, Sam? For once in your life, you could actually listen to me, and not question my judgement, and undermine me and insult my intelligence! You could stop lying to me and admit that you think I'm weak and you always have! You could trust me when I say not to do something because it's dangerous! And you could NOT STEAL MY CAR! That's how you could help."

Sam took a threatening step towards his brother. A wind seemed to ruffle his hair, and a thrill of fear shot through Angela. Castiel stepped in front of Dean.

Angela took the opportunity to pass her notes on the ritual to Sweets.

"Sam," Castiel said, and Angela was sure the earth trembled. "I do not wish you harm. You are my friend. But I will _always_ choose Dean over you. One more step and I will smite your soul from existence."

"You know what Cas? Just because you've got some sort of freaky gay angel stalker crush on Saint Dean over there doesn't mean he's always right! Jesus! Why is he everyone's favourite?"

At that particular point in time, Angela had a pretty good idea why Dean was everyone's favourite.

Sweets pulled himself together. "OK, guys. We'll get back to the room and continue this discussion there. We're attracting attention. Daisy, Angela, Hodgins, we'll see you later."

Angela stood with Hodgins, beside the mini, watching Daisy head to her car, and Sweets ushering the Winchesters towards Dean's car. She was very glad she wasn't Sweets.

"That's his car? Awesome," said Hodgins.

XXX


	25. Chapter 25

"I'm sorry," Sam said when they got back to the FBI cell with the padded walls. "I wasn't going to hurt you, Dean. I was just wound up because Crowley was there, and I could still smell his blood... It was stupid of us to go. We should have done what you told us."

"It was my fault too," Sweets admitted. "We wanted to help."

"Don't let me get started on you," Dean growled at him. "What happened to fixing Sam? That was your job, not trying to destroy spirits on your own! You were in way over your head, and you could have been killed. Christ, we should never have involved you."

Sweets hated to admit it, but it made him feel kind of warm inside to know that Dean cared if he died. He suspected that Dean felt that way about everyone, though. Probably a genetic predisposition towards altruism, combined with parental reinforcement of taking responsibility for others.

"Angela and Hodgins found something," he said, handing the paper Angela had given him to Dean.

"So really all we have to do is stop Sammy accepting Lucy's friendship bracelet?" Dean asked.

"We must also permanently destroy the spirit, or it will continue to kill children," Castiel reminded him, "and prevent the creators of this plan to raise Lucifer trying again. Also, Dr Sweets must heal your soul."

No pressure then.

"Well, do your thing," said Dean, gesturing to his brother. "And by the way, I don't think this 'airing your grievances' business is working."

"I think that Sam's main problems are interpersonal," Sweets began.

Dean interrupted: "Are you saying I'm the problem?"

"No, but I think it will help everyone if Sam's interpersonal relationships were improved."

"You must let him help, Dean." Castiel stared at his friend.

"You too," Sweets told him.

Castiel looked annoyed. "I would be of more use eliminating the spirit while you fix the Winchesters. I do not require your services."

Oh, he so did. Man, this was weird.

"Come on, Cas. Don't leave me here all alone," Dean said, dragging his friend over to sit on the bed beside him. He looked like he was holding in a laugh as Cas sat stiffly on the edge.

Cas didn't protest anymore after Dean asked him to stay. Interesting. Maybe Sam was onto something with this whole crush thing.

"So, let's get started," Sweets said, clapping his hands together. He felt at something of a disadvantage. The room had no chairs, and his clients were sitting on the bed, looking down at him as he sat on the floor. He thought about calling on his authority as the professional in the situation, and making them move to the floor, but he was pretty sure he would lose the fight.

"Let's start with Cas," Dean said, clapping the angel on the shoulder. Cas looked profoundly uncomfortable. Also, like he wanted to smite Sweets. Badly.

"Yeah, let's start with Cas," Sam agreed.

OK, Winchesters agreeing on something. They were starting with Cas.

"I am an Angel of the Lord. Angels do not need psychotherapy."

"You keep telling yourself that, Cas."

Dean and Cas were doing that thing that Booth and Bones (sorry, Dr Brennan) did, where they talked to each other and ignored everyone else in the room. Were they always like this? No wonder Sam felt left out.

What do you ask an angel of the Lord who has a very strange attachment to a human?

"What would you like to discuss, Castiel?"

"Can we talk about how he's stalking my brother?" Sam suggested.

"It's not stalking if he likes it, Sam."

Dean had a coughing fit and went pink.

"Oh my God," said Sam.

"What makes you think Castiel's behaviour towards Dean is unhealthy?" Sweets asked Sam.

The distraction from Sam's problems and failings seemed to be working. Sam's eyes had gone back to normal, and his veins had stopped throbbing. His tension was easing. Maybe that was all he needed, to remember that he wasn't the only one with problems. Then again, maybe it was just that he didn't want to drink the blood of anyone in the room.

"He watches Dean sleep."

"He just wants to stop my nightmares, Sam."

Well, that probably wasn't helping Castiel's case with Sam. Although, Sweets had to admit, whatever Cas had done to make him sleep the night before had been awesome. It was probably just normal angel behaviour.

"Dean does not sleep more than three hours a night when I am not there. A lack of sleep can severely impair cognitive function and motor coordination in humans. Allowing Dean a peaceful sleep was beneficial to our cause."

Sam snorted. Sweets wasn't sure he accepted the explanation either, but kudos for quick thinking.

"He also stands way too close to Dean. And appears in the bathroom."

"He just didn't get personal space, Sam," Dean defended his angel, "we had a talk about it."

Sweets noticed the talk didn't seem to have worked. Castiel looked even more uncomfortable than before.

"Anyway, it's different between a guy and his angel."

Sam's eyes bugged out. Sweets thought it was probably time to change the subject.

"OK, why don't we come back to that...? Now, Dean – let's talk about those nightmares that Castiel stops. Three hours of sleep a night is not enough. Chronic sleep deprivation can cause severe mental health problems, not to mention the physical ones."

"It's fine, I'm used to it."

"Irritability. Poor judgement. Reduced frontal lobe functioning. Anxiety. Depression. Delusions. Paranoia. Hallucinations. All of those can result from a lack of sleep, not to mention a failure of cell regeneration and decreased immune response to infection. Sleep deprivation can even lead to death. The nightmares are a serious problem, Dean," Sweets lectured.

Dean smirked derisively. "Death? They'll just bring me back. Although it might be nice to see Tessa again. She's always good for a chat."

Oh no. This was not good. He didn't think Dean would actually do anything, not while he had to keep his brother from going evil. Not while he had a world to save. But Sweets wasn't sure that Dean would fight for survival if he got sick.

"They might not bring you back next time," Cas told Dean. He said it like a comfort to Dean. Like he didn't think it would be a bad thing if Dean died.

Sam was glaring at Castiel. "You just want him in heaven where he can be with you all the time."

"I want him to be at peace, Sam."

Sweets willed his cell phone to ring and interrupt them. Surely Booth and Brennan would want to check in after they finished whatever they had gone to do after Dean and Cas had left. It didn't ring.

"Who's Tessa?" Sweets asked. Old girlfriend, maybe?

"She's a reaper. Surprisingly cool, actually."

Holy crap, reapers were real. And Dean was on first name terms with one. Sweets really didn't know what to say to that.

"Back to the nightmares – they seem painful. I think it will help if you talk about them.

Dean was silent.

Sweets' phone rang.


	26. Chapter 26

Booth slid into his regular seat at the diner, watching as Bones took her seat. Castiel had disappeared from the school with Bones, leaving Dean and Booth alone for less than a minute. Dean knocked out two teachers who had come to help their colleagues. Booth was very glad he had turned out to be one of the good guys. Castiel pulled them out immediately after that, depositing Booth on the side of the road with Bones, while he and Dean disappeared once more. Booth and Brennan had walked to the diner to restore their blood sugar levels after the stress. So now they were sitting in the diner and not talking about it. It was awkward.

Bones had told him she loved him. He thought. Or maybe it had just been his hysterical mind making things up because he'd thought they were going to die. She certainly hadn't said anything about it since. She hadn't really said anything at all. She'd just hugged him hard, and let him hold her hand with his own shaking one as they walked to the diner. He felt a rush of affection for her, and an overwhelming desire to keep her safe, despite the knowledge that she would protest vehemently to being taken care of. He was going to tell her. He had to. And if was she'd said at the school was just a figment of his imagination, or a response to imminent death, so be it. At least she would finally know how he felt.

He opened his mouth. "Temperance," he began, "Bones. There's... uh... something I've been wanting to tell you."

Bones looked at him expectantly. There was a pause. "Yes, Booth?"

"I," he said, and then, as always happens in these situations, his cell phone rang.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Bones asked him. He really didn't want to.

It was the bureau. There was another child missing.

They had to work out where the child had been taken. If it was the ghost, they needed to get someone on to that before the child was killed. It would be best if someone was doing that while he spoke to the parents. He called Sweets. Sweets sounded even more relieved than last time.

XXX

They all met in the diner: Booth and Brennan, the Winchesters, Castiel, Sweets, Angela and Hodgins. Dean pulled out his map with the whereabouts of the teeth on it, pointing out the places the ghost had already been eliminated. Booth circled the places the previous kids had been found, and marked the order. They were being killed at each ritual site in turn, counter-clockwise. The next site would be skipped, because the spirit had been eliminated from it.

"We'll go there, then," Dean announced, jabbing the map with a finger. He started to stand up.

"Wait," Sweets said. Everyone stared at him. "We're changing the teams."

"What?"

"It has come to my attention that the best way to stop Sam accepting Lucifer's... allegiance... is to work on his relationships with others. That means he needs to spend time with people other than his brother."

"So Sam hangs out with these guys while we go off to gank the spirit?" Dean asked hopefully, indicating himself and Castiel.

"Not quite," Sweets answered. Booth thought he looked a little nervous. "I've noticed that you and Castiel are also somewhat unhealthily co-dependent." Dean made an indignant noise. Castiel glared at Sweets. Booth discovered a new admiration for the psychologist. Sweets must have nerves of steel. "So...uh... you two are splitting up too." The last bit came out rushed and slightly high pitched.

And that was how Booth came to be interviewing the missing child's family with Dean while Bones, Angela, and Sweets went to destroy the ghost with Castiel, and Sam went to do research with Hodgins.

Booth was a little dubious about the 'teams' – the rescue mission for the kid was without an FBI agent, although he supposed he couldn't be in two places at once, and they _did _have an angel of the Lord. Also, Hodgins was with a not-quite human guy who had almost killed him the day before, and Booth was left to interview the family of a missing six-year-old with a felon on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Sweets assured him that he had thought about the teams thoroughly, though, and that he and Dean would get along fantastically once they got to know each other, so Booth went with it.

Booth knocked on the door of the house of Charlie Munroe's family. Dean was beside him, in a pressed black suit (Booth was impressed – he wouldn't have expected Dean to know how to use an iron, and had no idea when Dean had found the time to press the suit. The guy must never sleep.) Dean had pulled out a very impressive fake FBI badge as well. Well, impressive except for being in the name Robert Plant. Although he had to admit the guy had good taste. Booth had had to threaten to arrest him for impersonating a federal agent to get him to put it away.

"Just stay back and don't say anything," Booth ordered, as they heard footsteps approaching the door.

"Hello?" The woman who answered the door had been crying. She was very young, not more than twenty-six or twenty-seven. Booth hated it when they were young. "Are you here about Charlie? Have you found him?" She subsided into a fresh bout of tears.

"May we come in?" Booth asked.

The house was average. It was small, and looked like it had been fitted in the seventies. There was a friendly untidiness about the place, the way Booth's apartment looked when he'd had Parker for the weekend. It didn't look like the house of someone who could afford to send their son to a private school.

Booth sat on the threadbare couch, opposite Charlie's mother.

"Can you tell us what happened, Mrs Munroe?" Booth asked gently.

Mrs Munroe started sobbing again.

Dean was wandering around holding what looked like a large cell phone in his hand. He stared at the screen intently, frowning, before moving on to examining the window frames with much more interest than they merited. Booth wanted to yell at him to sit down and try to look professional. He didn't care how uncomfortable Dean was with displays of emotion, wandering around looking at your cell phone while you were meant to be helping someone find their child was callous. He didn't yell though. That would be unprofessional.

"I know this is hard, Mrs Munroe, but we need to know what you remember."

Charlie's mother shook her head and kept crying. "Y-You won't..." she trailed off.

"Anything you remember, no matter how strange it sounds," Dean contributed, turning away from the window frame. "We promise we will take you seriously." He sounded incredibly sincere, even caring. Mrs Munroe looked up at him.

"Did it get very cold suddenly? Or maybe there were flickering lights?"

"Charlie- he said Mrs Sparrow had come to take him to-to the park. She was his t-teacher. She's been m-missing for a year, at least. And then he just – he just..."

"Just what?"

"He just f-flew out the window. L-like something invisible dragged him."

"I see," said Dean calmly, as Booth attempted to process what she had just said. Maybe it was a good thing Dean had come with him instead of Bones. "We'll look into that. And by the way, how did you afford to send Charlie to that school?" Awesome. Why did he never get to interview with someone who understood social etiquette? It was like being with Bones.

They left not long after that. Apparently, Charlie had been offered a scholarship through a community day care programme run by a relative of the vice-principal of the school. They had found Charlie to be exceptionally well behaved and a fast learner. So, next stop, investigating day care centres for signs of Satan worship. Sometimes Booth really hated his job.

XXX

"You weren't bad in there, you know," Booth told Dean. "Except it's very unprofessional to use your cell phone while interviewing the family. It could get you caught."

Dean pulled out the phone and flipped it open. It looked just like a normal phone, but the screen showed a scale from 'zero' to 'it's behind you'. A red line was currently dancing around a sector labelled 'probably power lines'. "Homemade EMF meter 2.0," Dean said. "My old one was made out of a walkman, but they're kind of obsolete now and you look weird holding one."

Once again, Booth felt like the dumb one of the group. He pulled out his own phone, checking for messages. There was one from Sweets: Spirit taken care of. Charlie fine. Cas taking home. Take Dean to diner. Likes pie.

"Charlie is fine," Booth told Dean. "We should go figure out our next move at the diner. The apple pie is great."

Dean grinned. "Sweets told you you had to be my friend, didn't he?" There was a glimmer of genuine amusement in his eye.

Booth was starting to like Dean. He couldn't help it.


	27. Chapter 27

The rescue mission to save Charlie Munroe took surprisingly little time. Admittedly, Castiel did the lion's share of the work, but Angela felt they had all made important contributions to the team. For instance, she was the one who had suggested that it might not be a good idea to begin by walking up to the receptionist of the medical centre and telling her they were looking for a child stolen by a vengeful spirit controlled by Satanists. Castiel had replied by saying that it was the truth, and anyway, he didn't have his fake FBI badge with him. Eventually, with support from Sweets, she managed to convince him that there were easier ways to get into a doctor's surgery.

Angela should have gone to Hollywood. Her performance of 'woman with appendicitis' was Oscar-worthy. The others sneaked past her into the bowels of the medical centre while the occupants of the waiting room were distracted. She missed the rescue mission while the doctor told her that her pain seemed to be psychosomatic, but it sounded spectacular. And terrifying. She was glad the kid was OK, but she was also glad she hadn't been in the room. She had to leave via a window with Sweets and Brennan, while Castiel delivered the boy back to his mother.

While they were waiting for Castiel, a safe distance from the smoking building, Brennan told her all about how she had set a potted lily on fire while Castiel had fought the ghost and exorcised the doctor and Sweets had guarded the door.

"I would love to examine his angel-sword," Brennan told her.

Angela left that one alone. Way alone.

Castiel returned to them quickly. "The boy is with his mother. I have placed wards around his home."

"Excellent," said Sweets. "Now, it's time for you three to get to know each other better. You should go have coffee or something. I'm going home. I'm meant to be recovering from my traumatic kidnapping, and I'm pretty sure someone from work will be calling soon."

XXX

After Sweets left, it was somewhat awkward.

"I don't understand why he wishes me to drink coffee," Castiel said confusedly. It was adorable. She was pretty sure she wasn't meant to think that about an angel of the Lord, but that didn't stop it being true.

"You don't have to drink coffee, Sweetie. He just wants us to get to know each other."

"I already know you. Angela, you should not feel unintelligent at times because your friends tell you that you are. Temperance, what you feel for Agent Booth is love."

Angela snuck a glance at Brennan. How had Castiel known that? She tried not to let it bother her when Bren pointed out that she was the least intelligent of the group, but she couldn't help it sometimes. Brennan didn't seem to have picked up that little comment about Angela. She looked stunned. And thoughtful. Was she really thinking about telling Booth she loved him because an angel told her to? Angela had been telling her for years.

"I can see into your souls," Castiel said.

"We can't see into yours," said Angela. "Just come."

They went to a coffee shop. Castiel sat stiffly while Angela ordered coffee for the three of them. Brennan kept staring at him the way she examined a skeleton. It seemed to make Castiel uncomfortable, which was weird, because he spent most of his time staring at people, and didn't seem to realise it might bother him.

"Why does Dr Sweets want to prevent me spending time with Dean? I took time off to visit him."

"You get time off in heaven?" Angela asked incredulously, forgetting for a moment that they were in a public place.

"There is a new administration."

"Did you look at Booth's soul, too?" Brennan interrupted, breaking out of her reverie.

"He is a good man. Brave. Moral. Caring. He is a lot like Dean was before he got broken."

Angela took a moment to marvel at the angel's ability to relate everything in the world to Dean.

"Does he... love me?" Brennan's voice was hesitant.

"Yes." Castiel did not elaborate.

There was silence. Angela sipped her coffee. "So... you and Dean, huh?"

"Why does everyone think I wish to lie with Dean?" Castiel sounded annoyed.

Angela wouldn't mind lying with Dean. Or Cas, actually. The guy was adorable, and if he'd just loosen up a bit... _stop it Angela, he's an angel of the Lord._

"Sorry."

"I raised Dean from perdition. His soul is bonded to my grace. We are friends."

Angela couldn't help thinking there was some denial happening there.

"Everyone thinks that about me and Booth, too," Bren said, "they misinterpret friendship for sexual desire."

"But you are in love with Booth."

"Angela and Sweets believed I was for a long time before I began to have romantic feelings for him."

Wow. Angela was having coffee with the denial twins.

"Sweets is just trying to help," she said. "Everyone needs more than two friends."

"That is not entirely true," said Brennan, "there has been extensive research proving that it is the quality of relationships rather than the quantity that contributes to the onset of and recovery from bone cancer."

"That may be true, sweetie, but think of all the fun you miss out on if you never spend time with new people."

"You are a very intelligent woman, Angela," Castiel told her.

"Thank you." Angela wasn't quite sure what to say to that, but it was pretty cool to hear from an angel.

"You are equally intelligent as your colleagues. Your intelligence is merely represented in inventive and creative ways that may be misinterpreted by those of more conventional intelligence."

"I am also very intelligent," Brennan said.

"Knowledge is not the same as intelligence. Neither is logic."

Poor Brennan. She looked like she'd been hit by a truck. Why did Angela get teamed up with _both_ of the people with no social skills? She wondered how Booth was getting on with Dean. And Hodgins – Hodgins was with Sam. She was actually going to kill Sweets if Jack got hurt.

"So, are you going to tell Booth how you feel?" Angela changed the subject.

"I did," Brennan admitted quietly.

"What?" Angela gasped, smiling hugely. "When? What happened?"

Castiel folded his hands and stared at the ceiling.

"When we were handcuffed to the tables in the chemistry lab," Brennan began. Oh, this was so bad for Angela's stress levels. "One of the teachers had his dagger to my throat – I didn't recognise the engravings, I think they must have been in some kind of demonic language – " Even worse. She was starting to wish she had something stronger than coffee in front of her. "He didn't say it back, though," Brennan finished.

"I believe he is waiting until you and he are alone," said Castiel.

Oh wow. What was Angela going to do with herself when those two finally got together?

XXX


	28. Chapter 28

Hodgins' protests fell on deaf ears as his friends divided into their new teams and left the diner. His eyes followed Angela worriedly as she walked out. At the door she turned back and looked at him with concern, but then she was gone, and he was alone with Sam Winchester. The man who had tried to kill him the day before. He took some deep breaths. _Don't Panic._ He glanced at Sam. Dear God that man was enormous. And maybe he wasn't all black eyes and bulging veins now, but not even an hour ago he was threatening his brother. Hodgins clasped his hands together under the table so Sam wouldn't see them tremble.

Sam looked down. "Look, uh, Hodgins is it? I am _so _sorry about yesterday. I just really needed to burn those bones so Dean wouldn't break back in and get arrested again. I didn't want to hurt you. I'm not going to hurt you."

Hodgins almost exploded at him angrily. Of course Sam had meant to hurt him. He had pinned him to the wall by the throat using only his mind! Hodgins had woken up from nightmares unable to breathe five times last night. Angela had had to stay with him, like she had after the Gravedigger. He didn't yell, though, because Sam seemed to respond badly to anger, and his brother wasn't here to stop him going all Incredible Hulk.

"OK," Hodgins nodded, racking his brains for a non-threatening conversation topic. Why the hell had Sweets put him with Sam? Why not Dean? At least the guy had an awesome car, even if he did look like he was about one bad day away from killing himself. And they would have got to help with the field work – Hodgins had an awesome idea for a timer that would let them burn the binding symbol and tooth without disturbing the ghost. But no. Hodgins was with the scary, violent one, and they were doing desk work. Not that there was really anything else that could be gleaned from the particulate matter or the internet.

"Not that this isn't totally cool and everything, but do you know why Sweets changed the teams?"

"He thinks I'm turning evil because I have no friends."

OK then.

"So what do you want to do?"

They ended up going back to the lab.

Cam was there, examining the body of a small child. Hodgins blanched at the sight.

Sam Winchester was worryingly interested.

"Where is everyone?" Cam asked in annoyance. "I left messages that the lab was back up and running. And what is _he_ doing here?" She was gripping her scalpel very tightly.

"It's a long story... basically a bunch of Satanists are trying to kill everyone by bringing Lucifer to earth, and we've all been trying to stop them. Sam's actually on our side." He hoped.

Cam placed her scalpel in the instrument tray. "You've had a very traumatic experience, Dr Hodgins. Have you spoken to Dr Sweets?"

"He's helping too. What you saw yesterday really did happen. Gillian Sparrow's bones were part of a Satanic ritual, and so is this victim."

Sam was examining the body. "How did he die?"

"It looks like his trachea and oesophagus were pulled out, severing his carotid artery."

"What could cause that?"

"Well, most likely is an animal bite, but there is no sign of chewing or cutting by teeth. It's very strange. The amount of blood suggests he was alive at the time, but there are also no signs of restraint or cutting with any kind of weapon. I've never seen anything like it."

"That's because he was killed by a ghost. She put her hand into his throat and just pulled."

Cam went pale. "I'm calling Booth," she said.

"He's helping too."

She called him anyway. Then she went to lie down.

"We need to stop this spirit. We can't let it keep doing this to kids," Sam said.

Hodgins agreed wholeheartedly. "I actually had an idea," he said. "It would get rid of the binding symbol and teeth at the sites without disturbing the ghost as much, and we could do a whole lot at once..."

"Is this a bomb?"

"It's a small, timed incendiary device."

Sam looked thoughtful.

"It would solve the matches problem and it would be inconspicuous."

So, Hodgins was making small, timed incendiary devices with Sam Winchester. Sam had actually turned out to be quite cool. Knew his way around explosive chemicals (not that they were using anything particularly violent – just lithium and water and salt, with a timer that would knock over the container and spill them onto the right place), despite having been pre-law rather than science at Stanford. Apparently, his father had stressed the importance of being able to make explosives out of anything you can find. He could also name nearly as many poisonous plants as Hodgins, in Latin. He even understood the importance of Latin names in identification.

"Who do you think is behind this?" Hodgins asked, adding salt to his firestarter. "I was thinking there's probably someone high up in the government involved. They must have major power to organise something on such a massive scale."

"It's probably a demon," Sam said, checking the seal on the compartment holding the water in his device.

"I thought you guys said they were mostly human?"

"It's always a demon. Or an angel, but Lucifer can't be organising it directly 'cause he's locked up."

"Does this happen often? No wonder you guys are so messed up! Hey, you ready to try these out?"

Hodgins adjusted his safety glasses and repositioned the pot plant he had purloined from Cam's office. The 'tooth', which was really an imitation used for teaching purposes, was buried under a light layer of potting mix. "Stand back." He placed his incendiary device in the pot, setting the timer before casually walking away.

Hodgins and Sam watched from the other side of the room as the gates opened and salt, water and lithium spilled into the pot. The metal sparked and fizzled and caught fire. The fire caught the plant, and it shrivelled and burnt. At last, the lithium exploded with a sharp pop, and the burning leaves dropped off the plant, the fire going out. Hodgins approached cautiously. The small plant was almost entirely burnt up. He dug into the soil for the tooth. It was still intact, with only a slight discolouration to show anything had happened.

"Needs work," he said. They were going to have to add some of that magic lighter fluid – carefully, though. They wanted a safe, controlled fire, not a giant fireball which would destroy a building if it happened to be set off inside. He went back to his desk. Sam sat beside him. They worked.


	29. Chapter 29

When Sweets arrived at Dean's motel for the evening meeting, everyone was there. Dean and Booth were outside. The hood of the Impala was up and Dean was pointing something out to Booth, knowledgably in reverent tones about pistons and horsepower. Booth was leaning in, examining the engine and being suitably admiring. Sweets was going to have to talk to Dean about his attachment to that car. Just not yet, because it would not be fair to tell him he needed time away from his brother, his best friend _and_ his car, all in one day. Inside, Sam and Hodgins were in animated conversation about... explosives. Awesome. Maybe that one hadn't been that good an idea after all. Dr Brennan, Angela and Castiel were crowded around the table, looking out the window. No, staring out the window. At Booth. It was both amusing and slightly alarming.

"So, when are you going to tell him?" Angela asked.

"When the case is over. I think it would distract him if I broached the subject with him before then."

Brennan had finally admitted to her feelings for Booth! Wow, this was an incredible breakthrough. Maybe Brennan's protective shell was finally breaking and she was letting people in. Sweet's would have liked to think he was at least partly responsible for that, but he was pretty sure that it had more to do with the upheaval of her entire belief system and repeated exposure to life threatening events.

"It would be prudent to reveal your feelings soon. Before he finds someone else." Sweets thought Castiel might be glaring at Booth, just a little bit. It was hard to tell.

"Don't worry, Sweetie. He's not out to steal your man," Angela reassured him.

"I am not in love with Dean."

Sweets could have argued with that, but it seemed like Angela was doing a pretty good job.

Behind him, he heard Hodgins say incredulously: "The angel's in love with your brother?"

"Everyone's in love with my brother."

"So which plants are most commonly used in spell work? I should really know in case it comes up..."

Well done, Hodgins.

Through the gap between Angela and Dr Brennan's heads, Sweets saw Dean shut the hood of the Impala. Brennan, Angela and Castiel repositioned themselves to look like they hadn't been watching Dean and Booth look at the car.

Booth was telling a story about a '65 Chevy owned by an army buddy of his as he and Dean entered the room. He and Dean both had their sleeves rolled up, streaks of oil on their hands and faces. Sweets kind of got why people were so fascinated by them. Maybe if he phrased it right he could ask Booth how to be a bit manlier without sounding like a total dork. He wouldn't ask Dean, though. He could just imagine the freaked-out stare.

"So what have we got?" Dean asked the group. They were crowded onto the beds and chairs, wherever they could find a seat.

Sam made a mutinous face, commonly seen among younger siblings, right before they said "Who died and made you King of the World?"

"The child is safe. He is back with his mother."

"Sam? Hodgins?"

Hodgins leapt into an enthusiastic explanations of his and Sam's 'small, timed incendiary devices'.

"Bombs?" Booth exclaimed, "You want to set off explosions at 22 sites, some of which are indoors?"

"They aren't bombs!" Hodgins defended his creation. "They light a controlled fire in response to a timer. It is easily enough to burn both the tooth and the symbol before being extinguished by the sprinkler system or a fire extinguisher. We tested it thoroughly!"

"And," Sam added, "They will hardly disturb the ghost at all. Look, man, there's no way we can get around that many sites before she kills again if we have to fight the spirit at all of them. This is more efficient."

"I could," said Castiel, "If I took on my true form."

Sam glared at him. "How many eyes would you burn out?"

"Your way sounds more fun."

"Cool. We have to talk to some people at a preschool tomorrow," Dean said, "You guys split up and set those out. We'll have to watch out for police, though. That much arson in one day..."

It sounded so much worse when you called it arson.

It was also slightly concerning that Dean was not worried about arson _per se, _just about the police investigation into multiple arson events. He'd been entranced by the fire earlier, when Sweets had been asking about the nightmares. Maybe early trauma involving fire and subsequent learning of the value of fire in fighting the supernatural had brought about pyromania, or a joy in seeing destruction of the same kind as what had destroyed his life. Or maybe it was a side effect of hell – Sam seemed to have it too. He was disturbingly enthusiastic about explosives.

"Cam called earlier," Booth told the group (they should really have a name, Sweets thought – Scoobies? No, that was taken), "The kid had a substance in his stomach that she didn't recognise. Testing didn't show it to be any known substance."

"Probably demon goo," Sam said.

"Maybe something they're using to make the kids easier to brainwash? Or help the spirit identify its victims?" Dean suggested.

OK, this was so turning into a Buffy/Doctor Who crossover. Sweets was going to need serious psychotherapy after this. Only there was no-one who could give it to him.

"We'll keep an eye out when we go to the pre-school and back to the school tomorrow. You guys look for anything that seems likely at any of the sites the spirit is bound to."

"You're going back? I'm coming too," Dr Brennan announced firmly.

Sweets knew that tone. There was no point in arguing. It was the tone she had used to get when denying the possibility of God's existence, or saying she wasn't in love with Booth. Brennan was going with Dean and Booth whether they liked it or not.

It could be a good thing, actually. Brennan could spend some time with Booth after admitting her feelings to herself, with Dean there as a buffer so she wouldn't have to tell Booth until she had sorted out her emotions. Brennan's presence would stop Dean becoming too attached to Booth. Sweets would take her place in the group, which would work out well. He and Angela could subtly gang up on Castiel until he confronted his feelings for Dean.

As they dispersed, and Sweets headed home to bed, he thought the future was looking up.


	30. Chapter 30

Brennan needed to talk to Booth alone. This new discovery, with all of its accompanying emotions, was distracting. It was reducing her ability to think about the case rationally. It didn't look like she was going to be alone with him any time soon, though. It was almost like Sweets was trying to stop her telling Booth how she felt. Which was ridiculous. Sweets had been trying to persuade her to enter a romantic relationship with Booth for several years. Still, at least she was with Booth now. Even if Dean Winchester was there too.

She'd slept badly after the meeting the night before. There were too many things to think about. There was the situation with Booth, the case to mull over, and the utter destruction of her beliefs in pure science and the absence of any form of higher power. Not that anyone had yet proved to her that God existed. Brennan was not in a good mood.

They went to the childcare centre first. The one that was sending the children on to the Satan-worship school.

"FBI," Booth said, showing the woman his badge. He really was quite a good example of an alpha male. It showed when he did that.

The principal of the pre-school agreed to talk with them readily. She led them into her office, and Brennan and Booth took their usual positions opposite the witness, looking at her over the desk. It felt just like a normal case, only Dean was lurking in the background, playing with his cell phone and examining the shelves for dust. Even Brennan knew that was rude, and she'd been told on many occasions that she lacked social skills.

The principal noticed, too. "Please sit down," she told Dean in severe tones.

"Christo," said Dean.

The principal's eyes turned black.

Booth groaned. "Another one?"

"Think you're clever, don't you Dean?" The demon said, "Trying to save little Sammy again? Why do you even bother Dean? It makes no difference. We'll get him eventually, no matter what you do. He doesn't even appreciate what you do for him."

"Where's the big performance going down?" Dean asked, ignoring the demon's monologue.

"You can't stop us, Dean. You try and you try, but you never will. Why bother? Do you think if you save everyone enough, they'll love you? No one can ever love you Dean. No one did before hell, and now no one ever will. You don't deserve it. Not with what you've done."

Dean looked like he wanted to cry. He didn't, though. He pulled out a knife, razor sharp, and carved with strange symbols.

"Ooh, nice knife," the demon sneered, "Just love your knives, don't you? From what I hear, you were very promising downstairs. One of the best. Loved cutting people up, didn't you? All that anger, a whole lifetime of rage and fear and hurt, all stuffed down and packed away. And when you finally got the chance to give some back, oh boy did you."

"One last time," Dean said evenly, "How do we stop the ceremony?"

"Why are you fighting this, Dean? You liked hell, once you were off the rack. You could come back to us. You and Sam together, fighting on our side."

"Tell us how to stop it, bitch!" Dean took a step towards the demon, gripping his knife tightly. Brennan was a little afraid of him.

"You want to know why we're really doing this, Dean?"

"Are you deaf? I asked how to stop it."

"We're not doing it because we want Lucifer walking the earth. You've met Lucifer, Dean. He's a dick. No one likes him, not really. And hell's a really crappy place to live. Why would we want hell on earth? It'll ruin all the fun."

Dean paused. He looked indecisive.

"We're doing this because of you, Dean. Because you're a pain in our collective ass, and we hate you."

The demon lashed out suddenly, kicking Dean in the stomach. Dean flew across the room.

Booth started speaking in Latin.

The demon shuddered and rounded on Booth.

"Tell us where the ceremony is!" Dean yelled.

But a cloud of black smoke rushed past them, smashing out through the window. The demon was gone.

"Son of a bitch!" growled Dean.

"We'll just have to work out the most likely place for the ceremony ourselves," Brennan said, choosing to pretend she hadn't heard anything the demon had said to Dean.

"There's still the school," Booth added. "I'm going to have to call this in." The principal was dead, lying still and pale and cold on the carpet. "We should talk to the kids; see if they've seen anything weird recently. Make sure they don't realise that their teacher is dead in the office. He pulled out his phone."

Dean didn't say anything. He sat on the floor and stared vacantly at the wall, and didn't move.

"Dean?" Booth said.

Dean pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them, laying his forehead on his knees. "I'm done," he said. "I'm done."

And then he didn't say anything.

Brennan felt the sudden urge to hug him, but she didn't really know how to go about it. It wasn't like hugging Angela or Booth, who she knew well. So she didn't, and she went to talk to the children.

As she left the room, she saw Booth crouching beside Dean, like he did with Parker when Parker was upset.

She spoke to a large number of small children. Children were surprisingly good witnesses, when they were not led in any way by the conductor of the interview. They had in many cases, not yet learned to view the world through the cultural framework created by society, and were therefore able to give accounts of unusual occurrences without doubting the truth of what they had witnessed.

None of the children could remember their principal ever acting differently, which meant that either the demon was a very good impersonator, or she had been possessed for a long time. Some of the children who were nearly school-age had begun to act a little oddly recently. Sort of robotic.

At this point, Brennan wasn't sure she would be surprised if evil robots came out to join the fun.

The most likely place for the final ceremony, she decided after speaking to one of the teachers, was the school. They would do it on the school field.

She helped the teachers usher the children out into the playground as the first FBI vehicles pulled up.


	31. Chapter 31

Sweets was wrong. The future was not looking up. If he'd spent more time with the Winchesters, he'd have known that the sky is brightest just before the storm. Or words to that effect. Nothing is ever as easy as it looks when there are demons involved.

The day started out well. Sweets had a good night's sleep, surprisingly so considering the circumstances. Team A, as he'd dubbed himself, Angela, Hodgins, and Sam (Castiel, he felt, was a team in and of himself) met at the diner for breakfast. Sam and Dean appeared to buy breakfast every day. Sweets didn't know how they could afford it. Then he remembered the credit card fraud. But that was irrelevant. They examined the map over breakfast, deciding who would take each site, and split up into two teams: himself and Sam (A1), and Angela and Hodgins (A2). Cas would switch between them as needed. They left the diner in fine spirits.

Sweets soon discovered that arson was _really_ not his cup of tea. There were too many things that could go wrong. And they did. They started before he and Sam even reached the first site.

One of the incendiary devices went off in Sweets' car. Hodgins had been perfectly honest when he'd said they weren't bombs. It didn't blow up. There was no bang, not even a little pop. It just quietly and sneakily set the upholstery on fire, and consequently Sweets didn't realise what had happened until he looked in the rear-view mirror and saw flames consuming half of the backseat. He nearly crashed the car in his hurry to stop.

Sam, with great presence of mind, suffocated the flames with his gigantic t-shirt, and told Sweets to stop exaggerating, there had never been in any danger of it reaching the gas tank. It was no big deal, hardly a fire at all.

Tell that to his car, with most of its seat cushion missing and black smoke stains all along the roof. The smell of burning foam rubber was never going to come out.

But it was, after all, just a car, and not a very nice one at that. He'd just been trying to figure out a way to explain to Dean how unhealthy it was to be too attached to his car; if he got too upset about this, it would be hypocritical. So they carried on.

The fire was just the beginning of their problems. The first site they went to was inside an office building. It was surprisingly difficult to walk in unnoticed. The entrance was guarded by a severe and businesslike secretary. She dropped her pen and went red, staring at them as they entered. That was when they remembered that Sam no longer had a shirt.

Sweets had to do that one himself.

Things didn't get better from there. There were all the expected problems with setting up incendiary devices in a wide variety of places (at least Sweets assumed they should be expected; it wasn't like he did this all the time). There were tackles by security guards, and near misses with emergency services, and sprinklers that went off before the fire had done its job. There was one precarious situation in the middle of a mall, where the fire didn't take and the ghost was disturbed. Sam's eyes flashed dangerously black for a second, but he recovered himself and Sweets took care of the ghost with lighter fluid and salt. They escaped arrest only because of the extremely useful phenomenon of human nature whereby if a person sees something that shouldn't be possible (such as an angry spirit in a shopping centre), they pretend it isn't happening.

But the worst bit didn't come until Cas disappeared. Or, more accurately, until Cas came back. It wasn't that strange for him to disappear. He'd been zapping back and forth between Sam and Sweets, and Angela and Hodgins all morning. But this time, when he came back, he reappeared very close to Sweets. And he looked angry. Before Sweets could even move or speak Castiel's fingers were on his forehead, and he was back in the white room and Castiel was slamming him against the wall.

Castiel was terrifying. Sweets kept forgetting that he was a powerful being with the powers of heaven at his disposal, seeing him as more of a lovesick young wizard, like someone out of Harry Potter. Sweets remembered now. Those blue eyes glared unblinkingly at him, and the hands on his chest felt like they were made of concrete. Castiel's face was very close to his.

Castiel was practically snarling. "You said you would fix him. You were meant to make him better. All you have done is completely misinterpret our relationship, and cause him and Sam to fight."

Through the terror, Sweets managed to glean that this was to do with Dean. Apparently there was little else that could bring out this much emotion in Castiel.

"Fix him. I expect him to be Dean again by the time I get back."

Then Castiel was gone. Sweets rubbed his chest with a shaking hand and slid down the wall. His legs had gone all rubbery. He wiped the sweat off his forehead using his shirt, and looked around for Dean. He wasn't sure what Castiel was planning to do if Dean wasn't 'fixed' by the time he got back, but he was pretty sure it wasn't good.

Dean was curled up in the corner, his head on his knees. Castiel was right. This wasn't Dean. Even back in the interrogation room, before Sam had returned, he hadn't looked this broken. Sweets walked over and sat beside him.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up, his eyes slightly unfocussed. He saw Sweets and put his head back on his knees.

Awesome. It was either a severe depressive episode or stress-related dissociation. Sweets really hoped it was the former, not because he wanted Dean to be unhappy, but because it would be slightly easier to control in the limited time frame he had.

"Dean? Do you remember what day it is?"

Dean didn't say anything.

"Dean, I need you to talk to me."

Dean still didn't speak.

"I understand you're feeling terrible right now, but I need to know if you remember who you are."

Silence.

The trouble with being a psychologist was that you really needed the patient to speak in order to help them. Oh, this was so bad. They needed Dean. He was the only completely human person who actually knew what he was doing when it came to stopping Lucifer taking over the world. Also, Dean was actually a pretty cool guy, once you knew he wasn't really a serial killer.

"Castiel's going to smite me if I don't make you better. I need you to talk to me."

"Piss off."

Well, it was a start.

"He is not fixed." Sweets jumped. Castiel was standing in front of him, blue eyes narrowed.

"Where'd you go, Cas?" Dean asked, through his knees.

"The ritual is taken care of." Castiel turned back to Sweets. "Make him better."

"I need him to talk to me before I can do that."

"Dean," Castiel said sternly, "You must talk to Dr Sweets."

"What, not gonna beat the crap out of me this time?"

"We can do it that way if you prefer."

Dean sighed, and lifted his head. "I'll talk."

Well, that was veering dangerously towards domestic abuse, but it seemed to have worked. He would have to talk to Cas about the issues surrounding violence in relationships later.

"What are you feeling, Dean?" Sweets asked.

"Peachy."

"Dean," said Castiel, fixing his friend with a glare. They were definitely talking about control issues at some point.

"Awful."

"In what way?"

"Every way."

"Why?"

"It's all my fault."

"What's all your fault?"

"Everything."

"Dean," said Sweets, "It is not possible that _everything_ is your fault."

"Dean always thinks everything is his fault," Castiel contributed, "I think it is to do with years of unintentional emotional abuse at the hands of his father."

"Shut up, Cas."

OK. Abusive childhood. That was something Sweets could deal with. It was something he had both extensive training about and personal experience in. He knew firsthand all the problems victims of childhood abuse could carry into later life: self esteem issues, a propensity towards violence, self-harm and suicidal ideation. Poor understanding of human relationships. Social difficulties. Drug and alcohol addiction were more common among victims, and of course victims were more likely to participate in domestic violence later in life, either as the instigator, or by seeking out relationships with controlling or very jealous and possessive partners. Sweets had actually suspected Dean had some form of abuse in his childhood.

"Tell me about your father, Dean," he said.

Dean protested vehemently, saying it was completely irrelevant. That was to be expected. The majority of abuse victims, particularly victims of emotional abuse either refused to talk about it or did not classify their treatment as abuse.

"We'll make it broader, then," said Sweets, "Tell me about your childhood."

Dean did. Mostly, Sweets suspected, because of the way Cas was glaring at him. He told Sweets about his fourth birthday, and how his mother had taken him to the zoo, and they'd seen the tigers, even though tigers were nocturnal and spent most of their time sleeping in the bushes. And then he'd told Sweets about the fire, and how he still remembered the smell of his mother burning, and how he'd carried Sam out and heard his father screaming. He told Sweets about how he hadn't spoken for over a year after that, and how he'd still had nightmares about flames right up until he got out of hell and started having nightmares about that instead.

Dean was not a natural sharer. He kept everything locked up tight inside, and now it was like a dam had broken, and everything was coming out.

He told Sweets about moving around all the time, and having no friends, and idolising his father, and about how he'd wanted to be a fireman even though he'd been afraid of fire for years. He talked about looking after Sam and his father, and did a slightly scary impression of his father barking "Look after your brother, boy. Don't let anything happen to Sam." And he talked about his Dad leaving them alone for days at a time, and coming back hurt, and about running out of food and having to steal, and about the creepy motel owner who had kept telling him how pretty he was. He talked about how he'd never been as smart as Sam, and how he'd dropped out of school to work so Sam could stay in the same town for more than a couple of weeks at a time. About how he'd spent his entire childhood in a permanent state of tension and hid it behind a cocky grin, and taken it out on the supernatural, and how being with his father and Sam had made him feel safe, but the tension was still there because of all the fighting.

Sweets understood the feeling of constant fear. He remembered it from before his parents had adopted him, and he couldn't imagine it lasting his whole life, and how terrible it was. It wasn't surprising Dean formed unhealthy relationships, really. They were something stable for him to hold onto, like a teddy bear a child drags around everywhere.

"And then I went to Hell," said Dean. His voice was rough and tired from all his talking. "And I'm not going to talk about it."

In Sweets' professional opinion, the best thing for Dean right then, aside from several years of extensive psychotherapy and some anti-depression and anti-anxiety medication, was social support.

"Castiel, I need you to hug Dean."

Castiel looked confused.

"Just wrap your arms around him and hold him."

Castiel glared at Sweets. "I know what a hug is. Dean is uncomfortable with touching."

Sweets thought it was probably Cas that was uncomfortable with touching, but he didn't mention it. "This is a special circumstance."

So Castiel pulled Dean to his feet and wrapped him in an awkwardly forceful hug. It looked uncomfortable. But then they relaxed, and Dean hugged back, until it was almost a normal hug. It didn't last long before Dean stood up straighter and pushed Cas back lightly.

"Let's ice this bitch," he said.

"I have already done that," said Cas, a small smile on his face as he looked at Dean.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Sorry about the long time between updates. I have been very busy. Thanks for reading and reviewing. I hope this chapter is up to standard – if not keep in mind that it was written in a hurry at 6am because I said I'd get a chapter out by Christmas, and we're leaving to go camping in an hour.**

Hodgins' incendiary devices were not faultless. Angela spent the whole morning fearing for her fingers, her life, and her almost-clean police record. She and Hodgins had less than half of the sites to take care of, and she'd cunningly planned it so that they got the ones that looked easiest – after all neither of them was a professional ghost-buster. All same, she was glad that Castiel was around to back them up. But also glad to get away from everyone for a little while. It was just her and Hodgins, and it wasn't awkward at all.

Except when she slipped and forgot they weren't together anymore. But that only happened three or four times, and she was pretty sure she covered it up well.

They set up one of Hodgins devices in a park, and watched from afar so make sure it worked. Hodgins was in his element. He was somewhat gleeful about uncovering a conspiracy to bring Satan to earth. Horrified, disgusted and angry, of course, but also slightly smug about finally having his conspiracy theories vindicated. He hid it well, but Angela could always read him.

For Angela, the day still held that dreamlike quality where nothing quite feels real, even when there is a real threat of being arrested for arson and consequently allowing Lucifer to escape from hell and take over the world.

The first device worked like a charm. As they watched from the car, flames climbed up the tree in the botanical gardens ("_Alectryon excelcus_," said Hodgins, "Endemic to New Zealand – only the berries are poisonous.") They saw the shape of Gillian Sparrow arch up, shrieking as she burnt from the inside out.

There were a few narrow escapes after that, but overall the devices worked well.

And then, when they were in the vegetable garden of a house in the suburbs, setting the rhubarb on fire and hoping desperately that the owner was at work, it all went wrong.

Castiel, who had been with them a second before, disappeared at the most inconvenient time ever. The incendiary device didn't work properly. All it did was disturb the ghost.

She appeared out of nowhere, punching Angela with a force that sent her flying and knocked the wind from her chest. Hodgins had the natural reaction of someone seeing the woman he loves get hurt – he dropped everything he was holding and ran over to her.

So there they were, lying awkwardly in the cabbages, without a weapon. Angela's iron bar had dropped from her hand as she flew through the air, and Hodgins had dropped his salt gun when he saw her get hurt.

Angela supposed it was nice that she could still provoke that reaction in him, but she would have preferred it to happen in a different situation.

Gillian Sparrow's spirit loomed over them solid and vivid. Angela could see blood actually flowing from her throat. What had Dean said? If you lost your weapon, sometimes you could talk a spirit into the light?

"Why are you doing this?" She asked.

The spirit didn't answer, just disappeared and reappeared closer to them, hands reaching for Hodgins' throat.

Why did everyone keep trying to strangle Hodgins?

Angela tried again. "You don't have to do this. You can just walk away. Maybe there will be peace if you leave this world behind."

A freezing wind blew. Ice crystals frosted Angela's hair. She shivered.

"Peace does not exist," The spirit whispered, her voice hollow and echoing. "I have made a sacrifice for the greater good. And now I'll make another." She reached for Hodgins' throat again, but Hodgins had rolled away and was crawling towards the rhubarb.

Angela scrambled to pick up her iron bar.

"Why would you do this? Why did you want Satan to rise? You're an elementary school teacher!"

"God has forsaken us," hissed the spirit.

"So you sacrificed yourself to Satan and now you're killing children? Why couldn't you just become a Buddhist or something?" asked Hodgins, tipping salt from the container in his pocket onto the rhubarb.

The ghost darted in his direction.

"Have you ever spent a day trapped in a room with thirty six-year-olds? You wouldn't be so horrified then."

Angela made a mental note to vet any future children's teachers thoroughly before letting them teach her kids.

The spirit's fingers closed around Hodgin's throat. "The light-bringer will reward me for bringing him Sam Winchester. I will be in Lucifer's council!"

Angela gripped the iron bar tightly and dashed forward, swinging it so it whistled through the spirit. She was surprised to meet no resistance: The spirit seemed so solid. She almost wrenched her shoulder from the socket, but Gillian Sparrow disappeared, and Hodgins breathed hard, clutching at his throat.

"Let's go," he rasped, lighting a match and dropping it on the rhubarb as they left.

The rhubarb didn't catch. They ran anyway, and stood by the car, watching as the ghost shot after them and hit some kind of a wall, disappearing suddenly at the front gate of the property.

"I wish people would stop strangling me," Hodgins rubbed his throat. Angela could see yellowing bruises around it from the other day with Sam, and new red finger marks. "Where the hell was Castiel?"

"There was a problem," Castiel announced gravely from behind them. "Dr Sweets is working on it now."

"Is everyone alright?" Angela asked.

"No," said Castiel shortly. "Close your eyes. It is time to end this."

"Huh?"

"Get in the car. Close your eyes. Cover your ears. I am finishing this."

Angela obediently got in the car, closing her eyes and covering her ears. She sat very close to Hodgins. Castiel was not someone you argued with at the best of times, and he seemed to be in a very bad mood.

Even with her eyes closed, it was almost unbearably bright. She pulled her knees up and buried her head in her lap, using her legs to block out some of the light. There was a noise like the ringing in your ears after a concert only a hundred times louder, and there was a sharp pain in her ears. She could feel her eyes burning in their sockets.

And then it was over. They noise stopped, and the light disappeared. Angela waited until the red glow on the insides of her eyelids had diminished somewhat before she opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was Hodgins, blood running out from beneath the hands that covered his ears. She touched her own ringing ears, feeling wetness there.

She looked out of the car. Castiel was gone. So was the house. All that remained on the property where they had been a few moments before was a pile of rubble.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Again, sincerest apologies for the long wait. I promise I will finish it.**

Booth and Brennan were in the SUV, en route to the school when they saw the light. By that, Booth wasn't referring to a sudden inspiration or indeed a total change of belief system. By that, Booth meant actual, literal light. It shot up in an enormous column to the west of them, like sunlight flashing off a giant piece of glass. It dazzled Booth, and for a second he couldn't see the road ahead of him, only just swerving in time to avoid running into the back of the car in front, whose driver had obviously slammed on the brakes in response to the sudden blinding. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the tower of light was gone, and Booth was blinking his vision back to normal. Then it happened again, slightly to the left, and again, further across but closer. The light flashed into and out of existence in a rapid circle around the city, each time appearing for less than a second, and all the time a piercing, high pitched ringing permeated through the city.

When the noise stopped and Booth took his hands from his ears, the city was silent for a moment. The traffic was still. The pedestrians on the sidewalk cowered into the ground, arms curled protectively over heads. Then everyone realised that they weren't dead, and the noise started.

Horns blared and engines revved, and voices shouted in anger and fear. The traffic began to move again, but the traffic lights were out, blinking red and green and red and green. The smashing and shrieking of metal and metal reached Booth's ears and the first of the cars hit.

Booth's first thought when he had seen the light was that it was Castiel. He had seen the power and magnificence of Castiel's angelic power at the principal's house. The light had been the same: burning bright white light that made your eyeballs bleed. The sound had been the same. Booth had not understood why Castiel had not simply unleashed the wrath of heaven on the places where the spirit lingered. It had frustrated him, and when he saw Castiel finally take his true form to destroy the remnants of Gillian Sparrow's ritual, he knew that he was seeing the glory of God's orders.

And then he looked at the chaos of the faulty traffic lights, and the panicked public, and the smoke rising from the buildings of the city, and wondered if it might have been the work of the devil after all.

Castiel hadn't wanted to use his true form. He'd said it would be too destructive, and Sam and Dean had agreed with him. Booth hadn't understood at the time, but now he did. And he understood that Castiel had been pushed into it – Booth had seen the angel's face when he'd taken Dean away. Castiel had been super pissed off.

It was part of the plan.

On the sidewalk, a woman shrieked that she was blind. Booth pulled over to help her, but there was nothing he or Brennan could do. Her eyes had been burned out of her skull. They dropped her and four others off at the hospital an hour later, the confusion in the streets making the way slow.

Booth called a meeting outside the school. Dean and Castiel and Sweets were there when they arrived. Dean looked much better than he had when Booth had called Castiel to the preschool. He was standing up straight, gun just visible at the small of his back. He looked angry. Castiel was standing stiffly beside him. He looked furious. Booth was very glad that glare wasn't levelled at him. Sweets looked uncomfortable.

Booth glanced at Bones as they climbed out of the SUV. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine, Booth."

The walked over to the others.

"How many people did you blind, Cas?" Dean was asking angrily.

"What did you want me to do, Dean? Somebody had to do something. You weren't." Castiel replied coldly, in a tone suggesting he held only scorn for the weakness Dean had shown at the preschool. If Booth hadn't seen Castiel's expression when he'd taken Dean away, he would have believed him.

"Excuse me for getting Demon-gooped, Cas! You played right into their hands! And now a whole lot of innocent people are going to be deaf and blind for life. Great PR for us there, man! You just recruited at least a thousand people for team Satan!"

"There was no alternative, Dean. The damage to the bystanders was unfortunate, but couldn't be prevented. If we wasted any more time on the spirit ritual, it increased the risk of both the recruitment of your brother for 'team Satan'-" Castiel raised his hands in finger quotes. It looked like an awkward imitation of something he'd seen on TV. "-and failing to destroy the spirit before the final component of the ritual began."

"There are other ways, Cas! Do you even remember why we saved the world? Remember team free will? We were letting people choose for themselves and live out their lives on earth, not blinding them and helping Satan worshippers brainwash them into following Lucifer!"

"We have been through a lot together Dean. You do not appreciate what I have done for you. You should value my allegiance."

Booth stood by the car with Bones, trying not to listen. Seeing other people argue was always uncomfortable. He looked at Bones. She was beautiful, with her hair dishevelled from rushing around helping people, trying to get medical attention for the blinded. He felt a sudden rush of anxiety. Tonight was the final showdown. What if one of them didn't come back?

Sweets stepped in between Dean and Cas, saying something Booth couldn't quite make out, in that calm and reasonable tone of his that was especially annoying when you were angry. Booth's respect for his bravery went up a notch.

Hodgins' mini pulled up to the curb, and they tumbled out – Hodgins, looking a bit the worse for wear; Angela, looking worried; and Sam Winchester, enormous and muscular and shirtless.

"I had to use it as bandages," Sam told him, looking embarrassed.

Booth hadn't known Sam could look embarrassed: so far he'd only seen him look angry and tortured by guilt. It warmed Booth toward him a little, though he still wasn't sure he was over the incident in the lab.

Dean and Castiel turned to look at the group, establishing a frosty silence between themselves.

Booth told everyone his plan. Bones added her insight. The Winchesters refined it with supernatural knowledge.

Brennan pulled Booth back, catching his arm as they set off into the school grounds. They lingered a little behind the others.

"There's something I've been wanting to say," Brennan began, "I was going to wait until after the case was over, but now it seems like it might be our last night on earth, so this is what I wanted to say – "

Booth's heart sped up.

And then she kissed him.

XXXXX


	34. Chapter 34

A/N: **Again, sorry for the wait. I was intending to finish this by the end of January, but real life and writer's block got in the way. There won't be another update for at least a month, as I am going away, but my vow to finish it remains intact.**

When Booth and Brennan caught up with the group, their faces glowed with a happiness that was completely out of keeping with the situation. The situation being walking into certain doom with a plan that was poor at best, and moronic at worst. That was how Sweets knew that while they had been lurking just out of sight behind Booth's SUV, they had finally, finally admitted to each other the feelings everyone else had known about for years. Sweets was both cheered by this and a little aggrieved that it had taken a demonic uprising to get them to confront something he'd been urging them address since he'd first begun to work with them. Nobody mentioned it, though. Not even Angela, who looked as smug as someone who felt like weeping in terror could manage.

No one spoke until they reached the art room. The alarm wailed briefly as they broke in, but was soon silenced by Sam's deft fingers. Sweets saw Booth fighting a frown of disapproval. The alarm wouldn't stand out against the sirens wailing across the city anyway, but Sweets felt better without the noise. Less conspicuous.

"We need a straight line that way all the way across the school grounds, and make sure it's unbroken," Dean ordered, handing Sweets a jar of red paint and a large paint brush. "And make sure Cas doesn't burn anyone's eyes out."

Those two were in serious need of therapy, Sweets thought as he marched as bravely as possible out of the building to his starting point. Castiel walked stiffly beside him, trench coat billowing behind him. A silver blade shone in each of his hands. He looked like a total badass, and wouldn't let Sweets hold one.

Having Dean and Cas mad at each other was not good for battle.

Sweets didn't mention it though, because he was a little bit afraid of Castiel right now. He slathered paint generously onto the concrete. He painted a thick line across the school, a little above the centre. It would meet Angela and Hodgins' circle at the edge of the school, before turning sharply back to cross the circle diagonally. Bones and Booth had three lines to draw, and Sam and Dean were in charge of the more complicated symbols in the design. Dean had confidently assured them that the devil's trap would prevent any demon from leaving the school grounds, but he had said it with that false bravado that told Sweets he didn't know how long it would work.

A man in a janitor's uniform approached them just as Sweets was putting the last dab of paint on his second line.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" He shouted gruffly. Sweets started guiltily. "This is vandalism! It's people like you who cause all the trouble in this country, you just think you can do whatever you want! Well you won't get away with it, not while I'm around..." The janitor had grey overalls and grey hair, and a large nose. He looked like he worked hard for a living.

Castiel stood very close to the janitor and said quietly: "Go to hell. Bitch."

Sweets dithered indecisively. The janitor looked like an ordinary janitor to him, but apparently demons could look perfectly normal until they killed you. There was a word he was supposed to say, to check, but he couldn't remember what it was.

The janitor laughed. "Oh Cas," he said, "So full of sin. Are you sure you don't want to join us? You'd have a lot of fun downstairs."

And then Castiel stabbed him in the heart with a sickening squelching noise, and Sweets vomited violently into a convenient bush.

They arrived back at the meeting point slightly late, but within the accepted time-frame. Hodgins and Angela were holding hands and looking shaken. They let go the second they noticed Sweets looking, but remained very close together.

The Winchesters, meanwhile, were having a quiet but forceful argument a little way off. Sweets caught the word 'spell' from Sam, and a louder and definite 'NO' from Dean. Sweets decided that this was one time it was important for the therapist to intervene; it was bad enough that Dean and Cas were arguing, but if Sam got it into his head once more that his brother didn't trust him, or would be better off without him, then there was serious danger of the ritual being completed despite the plan to stop it.

It was a strange feeling, having the fate of the world depend on your skills as a psychologist. Sweets wasn't at all sure he cared for it.

"I'm noticing some tension here," he told them in his calmest voice, approaching at an even and unthreatening pace.

"This could be our only chance," Sam was saying urgently. "Do you really think we can take on this many demons without it? We'll all die!"

"Then we'll die," said Dean.

Sweets really didn't like the sound of that. He had never quite realised how much he liked being alive until that week. "Guys," he said louder, "I really think you need to discuss this calmly."

"Go away, Sweets," the Winchesters growled in unison. They were clearly still well in tune with each other in some aspects.

"No," he said firmly. "No, I won't go away. You two need to work out your problems, and you need to do it now, otherwise we're all royally screwed. And I know you weren't arguing about whatever you were pretending to argue about. They'll be time to rebuild trust when the plan to raised Satan has been stopped once and for all. For now, you just need to let each other know you care."

The Winchesters turned to face him. They seemed much larger together than they did separately.

"I trust you, Sam," Dean said. "I know you won't turn evil."

"You are the most important person in the world to me, Dean. I won't disappoint you."

They levelled matching glares at Sweets, but he couldn't help feeling a slight glow of satisfaction. He had got them to make up, at least superficially. Their declarations to each other may not have been quite genuine, but at least now they were united in annoyance at him.

Bones and Booth came stumbling up then, panting and dishevelled.

"They're coming," said Booth.

It was time for phase two to start.


	35. Chapter 35

For a few moments when Brennan and Booth caught up to the group, it seemed like the plan wouldn't work. The needed to act as a team, but even Brennan could feel the tension bubbling just below the surface between Sam and Dean, and Dean and Castiel were outright fighting. Sweets was looking tense and stressed as he stood between them trying to diffuse the tension with psychological observations. It wasn't working. Brennan wasn't surprised. Sweets' psychological 'expertise' rarely did anything except irritate her.

Hodgins broke in. He was pale and standing very close to Angela. "What happens if we lose?" He asked. "What happens if Lucifer rises?"

There was silence for a moment, then Castiel said: "There are things in night that are better not to behold."

There was more silence, and Dean and Cas did that thing Brennan didn't quite understand where they stared into each other's eyes, and finally Dean said, "Really, Cas? That's your great insight? _Ballroom on Mars_?"

Castiel's face twitched into a tiny smile, and just like that they were friends again. There were times Brennan thought maybe she really did need lessons in everyday social interactions.

Booth explained it to her after they split into their groups, in preparation to stop the apocalypse. "Sometimes," he said, "Someone has trouble finding the words to say something they mean. Like 'I'm sorry' or 'I love you', so they offer something else instead. Something the other person will know means they care, or have accepted the other person's opinion or want to make them feel better."

Oh. Sweets told her she did that regularly with Booth. Maybe angels weren't that different to people.

"It's probably an inside joke," Booth continued, "Or a song Dean likes, or one they listened to together."

Brennan grasped Booth's hand tightly. They were crouched inside the playhouse of the school's elaborate playground. It was a well designed playground, with features that would encourage healthy activity without the strain on the skeletal system that many playgrounds caused. But that wasn't important at the moment. What was important was that the final stage of the ritual to raise Lucifer was about to begin. The playing field, with its expensive track and solid podium, was quickly filling with people. She felt Booth return her hand-squeeze. At least Booth was there. She had absolute faith in him. Tonight, they were going to save the world.

But for now, all they could do was wait for the sign. The plan was simple enough: Angela and Hodgins would cause a distraction; Sam, Dean and the angel would take care of the demons, with Sweets there to keep Sam calm; and Booth and Brennan would arrest or otherwise incapacitate the humans. Booth had looked like he wanted to object to the 'otherwise incapacitate' bit when Castiel had added it to the plan, but Brennan agreed with the angel. In certain situations, hurting someone was necessary to prevent a greater evil. That was what Booth was always saying about her father, and she felt it applied here. Booth had given her his handgun, and was carrying a rifle. Brennan wasn't sure what kind it was, but it was reassuringly large.

The sky was darkening, the growing crowd becoming black shadows against the gloaming.

"I've got a fever of a hundred and three," she whispered. That was their song. Hot Blooded. Her and Booth.

Booth hummed it quietly beside her.

The noise from the crowd was growing. There had to be well over five hundred people there. Many of them were pupils of the school.

Brennan's heart beat rapidly. Her legs were beginning to ache from their awkward position.

The floodlights turned on. A man stepped up to the podium, his features shining ghoulishly in the sudden light. Brennan didn't recognise him. Next in the line of command, she supposed, after the demons they'd already sent back to hell. Or maybe he was in charge, and had been lurking in the background to avoid being killed before his plan was seen through.

Booth made a choking sound beside her. She glanced away from the field to catch his eye. He looked outraged.

"That's the superintendent of schools!" Booth hissed, "Don't they do background checks?"

The superintendent of schools tapped his microphone. He cleared his throat. A hush fell over the crowd.

"This is a very sad day for our city. This is a sad day for the country. The death toll stands at 36, with many more left to grope blindly through silent lives, the eyes burned from the sockets. The pain felt in the city today was great, and it was caused by an angel. A servant of heaven. And so, we must ask ourselves: what is heaven really doing to protect us? A system of power that asserts control through pain, suffering and confusion should not be in charge at all!" The superintendent spoke loudly and clearly.

Brennan could see the logic in his argument. She could almost have found herself agreeing with him, if she had not seen the cruelties displayed by the servants of hell.

"But there is another option," the superintendent announced, "And it will be the choice of the people. This is democracy in action, folks. All you have to do is chant with me. To a new beginning!" He raised his hand in a mock toast, and the crowd toasted back, the school children raising their hands as one, and the hands of the public coming up more slowly, in a raggedy pattern that spread across the field.

"Chant with me people! Bring forth the lightbringer!"

The crowd began to chant. Just the schoolchildren first, in perfect, sing-song Latin, and then the rest of the crowd beginning to rumble along as the chant repeated. Again and again and again.

The ground began to tremble. Brennan could hear Booth praying to God beside her. Castiel had assured her that God would step in at the end, but she still wasn't entirely convinced he existed. She wondered what was taking Angela and Hodgins so long.

And then the school blew up.


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: Apologies for the delay. I have been having issues with the site. Thanks BranchSuper for the help in getting this up.**

Sweets couldn't move. It was like his brain had been turned off and all his muscles frozen. The rush of heat and air from the explosion blasted into his face, and the sky lit up in red and orange, almost blinding him. He could feel his face scorching and his mouth drying out, and the thud of a projectile thrown up by the blast as it landed a foot to his left. His ears rang, and he couldn't hear the commotion around him, or decipher what Dean was yelling, because his brain was stuck in a loop that just said '_It blew up. It blew up! Where are Angela and Hodgins?'_

And then Dean was dragging him, and he was stumbling forward through the panicked crowd. People were running and tripping and crashing into each other, making frantic 911 calls at volumes that overcompensated for the hearing loss.

When Sweets' brain finally switched back on, he was leaning against a tree, and Dean was shaking him and saying something. He looked calm and ready to fight, but Sweets could see his hands shaking almost imperceptibly, and his breath was shallow and fast, indicating anxiety. Things were going wrong. The explosion was too big. It hadn't been meant to happen like that.

"Your friends are fine," Castiel informed Sweets, his face as impassive as ever.

It didn't make him feel better. He wouldn't feel better until he saw them for himself.

Sam was there too, and he loomed over Sweets wearing an expression that was no doubt meant to be comforting, and said: "Look, man, I know you're freaking out and you're worried about your friends, but we don't have a lot of time here. We have to get moving. This trap won't hold them for long."

Sweets almost laughed out loud, because of the absurdity of Sam Winchester being the calm and sensible one, after the erratic behaviour and emotional turmoil he had been showing over the last few days. He looked at Dean, who was checking the load of his gun, and realised that this was totally normal for them. Just an average day. He was really glad he wasn't a Winchester.

Sam stood back up to his full height, his face snapping back to the scary soldier setting. "Stay close," he ordered.

Awesome.

They wound through the crowds to the podium in a line. Sam first, then Sweets, then Dean. Castiel had disappeared into the mass of people, a shining angel-sword in each hand. He looked like way more of a badass than Sweets did. Dean had given Sweets a knife. He held it awkwardly with the point forward, and hoped Sam wouldn't stop suddenly. Because it would be really bad if he accidently knifed Sam when he was meant to be the one stopping him from doing something that would raise Lucifer. Like killing someone. Which he would definitely do if Sweets accidently stabbed him.

People kept knocking into him, pushing him out of the way in their rush to escape. The school burnt red against the darkening sky, and it looked a little bit like hell. Or how Sweets had imagined hell. He didn't know what it was really like, which was one of the reasons Dean was objecting so strongly to therapy.

Sweets missed last week, when he was just a psychologist.

They caught a glimpse of Booth and Bones beside the playground. Booth was arresting a very ordinary-looking man in a blue shirt and wire-rimmed glasses, who was objecting strongly to being handcuffed to the monkey bars. Dr Brennan was having a fight with another woman. That was all Sweets saw, because they didn't have time to stop. It made him breathe easier to know they were alive, though.

When they reached the podium, the demon occupying the Superintendent of schools was still there. He was waiting for them. He stayed where he was, on the highest step of the podium, as they walked toward him. He was giving himself the psychological advantage. Make people come to you. Make them look up to see your face. Sweets knew these techniques. He taught them to FBI agents to use in interrogations.

"Don't let him get to you," he whispered to the Winchesters, "Try to make him step down so you won't have to look up at him."

The Winchesters showed no signs of having heard.

The demon smiled at them and gave a casual gesture with his left hand. All the people milling around stepped out, leaving a perfect circle around them, waiting to move in at a word from their master.

"Not big on fair play, are you?" Dean groaned, stepping out from behind Sweets to glare at the demon.

The demon's smile widened. "It's more fun this way. You remember what it's like, don't you?"

Dean's back was straight, and his shoulders were squared and his face was hardened. There was no sign of the exhausted, broken man Sweets had seen earlier that day. It was sad, Sweets thought, that life could mess someone up so badly that they were at their most comfortable and most confident during a standoff with a demon.

Dean smiled. It was big and fake and dangerous. "I haven't had a good night's sleep in forty-three years. I'm in a really bad mood. What's say you just call this whole thing off?"

The demon pretended to think. "And what will you do if we don't? Even you can't think these odds are in your favour. And Sammy! So good to see you. You seem like a fun guy. Let's be friends."

The demon turned to face Sam. Dean took an angry stride forward. "You leave him alone!"

"He's kind of possessive, isn't he Sam? And needy. Always bossing you around and not letting you make your own friends. Always wants everything his way. And you know what the worst thing is? He doesn't even really like you. He has this picture of you in his head from just after he picked you up from Stanford, and he just can't stand it that you aren't dependent on him like that anymore. Why are you sticking with this, Sam? You could have so much more."

"Don't listen to it, Sam! It's lying. Come on, use the knife."

Much as Sweets hated to admit it, the demon had some valid points. Dean did seem to need Sam to validate him, as well as seeming to miss an old, softer, more dependent version of Sam who wasn't really around anymore. But regardless of the truth, the most important thing at the moment was to stop Sam's fragile mind from cracking completely. Sometimes, saving the world had to take precedent over long term psychological well-being. So Sweets lied to Sam Winchester.

There was a vein throbbing in Sam's forehead, and his face was taking on the expression of a kicked puppy. The same expression that had crossed it last time before his eyes had flashed black.

"Sam," Sweets said, in a calm and reasonable voice that didn't even come close to reflecting his true state of mind, "You're a logical man. That's one of your main strengths. I haven't known you long, but I can tell that about you. You're very intelligent, and you're logical. Think about this. Judging from experience, who is more likely to be messing with your head? Who is more likely to have an ulterior motive?"

"The demon. Demons lie. Ruby lied to me for ages." Sam sounded slightly sulky.

"Good. Now, I know you're worried that you've lost Dean's good opinion, but I think you know that's not true."

Sam was nodding. They were getting somewhere. Sweets smiled a little inside. He didn't let it escape though, because that would be unprofessional, and it was totally inappropriate to smile when an elementary school was on fire. Even one that had turned out to be run by Satanists.

The demon cleared its borrowed throat. "Isn't this sweet? Well, sorry to interrupt your little therapy session, but if Sam won't help us willingly, I'm afraid we're going to have to insist. With force." It waved its hand.

The circle closed in.

Sweets hadn't even liked fighting when he was seven and the people he was fighting were slightly larger seven year olds who wanted his lunch money. He liked it less when the people he was fighting were demons with super strength and it was ten on three.

Actually, it was more like ten on two, because the demons mostly ignored him. It was kind of insulting. He was pushed over early on, and crawled around causing minor irritation by stabbing random ankles with his salt-coated knife. It gave him a pleasant feeling of victory to see them off-balance, hopping on one foot for a moment. He was pretty sure that that said some worrying things about his mental state, but he decided not to think about it until the apocalypse was definitely re-averted.

The Winchesters were freaking awesome at fighting, and worked perfectly as a team despite their recent friction, but even so, the demons were rolling over them. Soon, one had Dean face-down in the grass with a knee in his back, and another two were holding Sam. They seemed to have forgotten Sweets.

"Ready to play nice boys?" The head demon hadn't moved from his position atop the podium.

That was when Dean lifted his head from the turf and yelled for Castiel.


	37. Chapter 37

Angela and Hodgins were running from the building when the blast went off. It was bigger than it was meant to be, because even Hodgins couldn't be sure of all the factors when improvising an explosion using the gas outlets in a science lab. The rope they were using as a fuse burned more slowly than they'd thought it would, so more gas had leaked into the room when the flame hit, and instead of causing minor damage and a distraction the explosion destroyed most of the school building. It made the ground shake and threw them forward in a blast of heat so intense Angela was sure she could feel her skin blistering. She lay where she fell for a moment, dazed and deafened and bruised, before her wits came back to her and she dragged herself up to look for Hodgins.

Hodgins had been thrown into a rosebush that lined the path to the door of the school. Blood ran down his cheek where a thorn had torn his skin, and he was clutching his wrist, his face in a pained grimace, but he wasn't dead and a deep feeling of relief filled Angela as he rolled out of the bush.

"I guess this is the part of the movie where the battle montage starts," Hodgins said. It was a weak joke, but Angela appreciated the effort.

"All we need is the song," she said, and hugged him hard because there were certain times when hugging was allowed between exes.

They held hands and walked away from the building, not looking back. Angela was pretending it was a movie, and heroes in movies never look back at the explosions they cause.

Chaos was taking over around them as they made their way toward the controls of the sprinkler system for the school lawns. People were running and fighting and pushing their way through the crowds, yelling and crying and panicking, trying to leave the school grounds. Angela saw several normal looking people run into an invisible wall when they tried to step over the lines they had painted on the ground. A thrill of vindictive glee ran through her at the thought that she had helped stop them. It was quickly replaced by a shudder of abject terror as she realised not only was she shut in with a large number of demons, but they were also now very angry. She clasped Jack's hand tighter and practiced the breathing exercises she'd learnt at her meditation escape the month before. She was definitely going to need to go on another one when all this was over.

There was a second, larger explosion as the fire hit the gas pipes. They were further away now, but even so the heat scorched her skin. Hodgins was lit up in red and yellow. Angela really hoped there had been no-one near the building. They'd made sure it was clear before setting the blast, but what if someone had snuck back in? What if they'd killed someone? Surely that made them no better than those they were fighting.

The sprinkler system was run off an enormous tank of water buried beneath a small copse of trees so it couldn't be seen. The controls were in a small shed hidden by thick ornamental plants. A narrow gravel path led to it. Angela and Hodgins sidled down it as quietly and unobtrusively as possible. If someone saw them and attacked the whole plan was down the drain and it really would take an act of God to save them.

Angela's feet crunched on the stones. She wished she'd worn more practical shoes. Sneakers, maybe. Or work boots, like Dean's. Although, while the boots were seriously hot on Dean Winchester, she doubted they'd suit her as well. If she was going to die today, she might as well go out in a blaze of glory and awesome shoes.

"You OK?" whispered Hodgins.

"No," Angela whispered back.

"Me neither."

They reached the door of the tiny shed. It was locked with a solid metal padlock holding a bolt closed. Hodgins let go of her hand, glancing around for something heavy to break the lock with. He clutched his left wrist, which was swelling nastily and bent at a strange angle.

It was quieter and darker in the trees. They blocked out a lot of the noise, and all they could see of the fire was strange colours dancing in the sky overhead. Without the view of the rushing crowds, the whole thing seemed a long way away and somehow less believable.

Angela pulled a hairpin from her hair and silently thanked her high school boyfriend Kyle for being less than honest, as she used the skills he'd taught her for the first time in years. The lock snapped open in under a minute.

"Nice, Angie! Just full of hidden talents aren't you?" Hodgins' voice was warm and affectionate.

They bustled inside the dark shed. A spider web brushed across Angela's face as they walked through the door, and she fought the urge to shriek and dance around the room trying to get it off. Being afraid of spiders seemed a little silly now.

They found the cover of the tank when Hodgins kicked it and the metal clanged deeply.

"Ow!"

They knelt beside it and turned it and pulled at it until it came away with a suddenness that sent them sprawling backwards. Carefully, Angela felt her way back to the edge. There were no windows in the shed and the hole was large enough for a person to fall in. At last, her groping hand hit metal and then frigid air and she knew she had found it again.

"Have you got it?" She whispered to Hodgins. She wasn't sure why she was whispering – there was no-one else around – but it seemed right somehow.

"It's right here," Hodgins replied, his voice low and full of comfort and reassurance. He pulled a rosary from his jacket pocket and dropped it in the tank. It landed almost immediately with a faint plop. A drop of water landed on Angela's hand. The tank was nearly full.

"Well, they might be Satanists and demons, but at least they make sure they can water the fields," Hodgins commented. He was very close to Angela. She could feel the heat of his body, and it made her calm. Or as calm as possible, given the circumstances.

They whispered the prayer together, and then repeated it louder just in case.

Now all they had to do was find the switch.

Angela cursed the school for not putting lights in the sprinkler house. Everywhere else had the best of the best. It was like it had been done just to foil their plans.

And then it got worse.

The demon came on silent feet, and they never even knew it was there until it spoke.

"Holy water sprinklers... Very clever... what a pity you won't live to see them go off."

Angela froze where she was feeling her way around the wall to the control panel. The demon blocked the doorway, and she realised it hadn't been completely dark before. But now it was. She couldn't see the demon. Not its face or its height or its build. She couldn't even be sure it was a demon – she couldn't see its eyes. It spoke with a man's voice, smooth and silky, and it terrified her.

She edged sideways, and her shoes made an almost imperceptible noise against the stone floor.

That tiny sound was all it took. Suddenly, a large body, strong and muscular and still invisible in the darkness had her pinned against the wall, and strong, thick fingers were easing their way around her neck.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," The demon hissed, "I could break your neck with one twist."

The hand pressed down on her throat and she struggled for breath. Her heart beat hard and fast in her chest. "Christo," she rasped.

The demon flinched, and the grip on her neck eased for an instant. But then the fingers closed again, harder than ever.

"You'll regret that," it snarled.

And then there was a loud clang and a cracking noise, and the demon fell backwards, its hand falling away from Angela.

"Don't you ever touch her again!" Hodgins shouted, following it up with: "Christo Christo Christo CHRISTO CHRISTO!"

Angela could hear the demon writhing on the floor, then a thud as it swept Hodgins legs from under him and the smack of a punch landing and a hiss of pain from Hodgins, and she knew she had to do something. She swung her leg back and kicked as hard as she could.

There was another hiss of pain from Hodgins. "The other guy, Ange, the other guy."

She repositioned herself, waiting for Hodgins to scramble out of the way. "Christo," she said again, and kicked the shuddering body again and again.

There was a silence and then a loud splash and screams of pain and a hiss like flesh in acid.

The shrieks were loud and agonised and echoed in the tiny room. Angela felt a pang of conscience.

"He just tried to strangle you, Ange. It was self defence," Hodgins said, but it didn't make her feel much better about what she'd done or what was going to happen outside when they turned the sprinklers on.

They found the switch at last, and flicked it on, hearing the pump start up over the last pained gasps of the demon in the tank.

They were turning to leave when something like wind blasted through the trees around the shed, and the doorway lit up with lightning.

Castiel stood there, silver-white blade gleaming in each hand. Something dark that might have been blood dripped off them and stained his coat. His hair was ruffled and messy, and a strange light lit his face. Angela was almost sure she could see strange shadows extending from his shoulders. For the first time, he frightened her.

"I apologise for the delay," he rumbled, "I was otherwise occupied." He gently touched two fingers to her forehead, and when Angela opened her eyes, she and Hodgins were in a ring of demons with Sam and Dean Winchester and Sweets.

XXXX


	38. Chapter 38

Booth was in the process of securing an elementary school teacher to the monkey bars with his belt when the sprinklers went off. She was one of the women from Mrs Sparrow's afternoon tea circle. They'd questioned her two days ago. She'd been excessively smiley and given Booth the creeps. His opinion wasn't improving. She wasn't a demon, but she had some nasty fingernails and was going for his eyes. He'd run out of cuffs ten minutes ago and was really, really ready to wrap this whole thing up. It didn't seem like that was going to happen anytime soon though. He'd caught a few glimpses of the Winchesters since the explosion and they seemed vastly outnumbered.

The sprinkler came on directly beneath his feet just as he finished buckling the teacher firmly to a bar. The spray was fine and misty, catching the red light of the fire as it hung in the air. He was torn between being glad for the coolness and annoyed that the ground would be slippery. He weaved through the crowd to Bones, who was holding her own against a man in a grey suit, but looked tired.

The clamour started slowly, and it wasn't until Booth had reached Bones and helped her cuff her guy that he realised what was happening. The fine spray was hitting the possessed, stopping them in their tracks. They would pull up short, stand still for a moment, before jerking about oddly like they couldn't control their heads. Some, the ones with the stronger demons in them, he supposed, would recover, stumbling off towards the edges of the fields or the podium. Others would jerk more violently, clasping their faces in pain. Some steamed and cried out. The black smoke would fly out of their mouths right after that, disappearing into the night. Booth didn't know where it went, but he had more immediate concerns.

The people who had been possessed almost all collapsed. Booth and Bones rushed to help. It was too late for some – others were just exhausted and confused. Booth was helping one – apparently a receptionist at the school – to the driveway, where the fire service and ambulances were just pulling in, when he noticed something. The kids, all the ones who hadn't managed to get out in the big rush, were falling to their knees, vomiting up black goo. Lots of them were crying and alone, separated from their parents in the rush. He delivered the receptionist to a paramedic, and ran back to gather some kids. He nodded to a guy he knew from the bureau, and tried not to think about explaining all this.

He was kneeling beside a crying kid, who couldn't be more than five, trying to reassure him, when suddenly he wasn't. Without warning, there was a hand on his head, and a nasty sucking feeling around his body, and suddenly he was sprawled on damp grass in the middle of a brawl. A brawl the Winchesters were losing, despite the twitching of the demons as the holy water affected them.

"Reinforcements. Excellent," said Dean hoarsely. He had his knee in the back of a large man who appeared to be having a mild seizure. There was black goo dribbling down Dean's chin and over the head of the demon he held down. He wiped his mouth with his hand and rubbed it dry on the demon's shirt. "Ugh. Brainwash goop." Then he punched the demon hard in the head and it went limp. Dean got up. "Exorcise it," he ordered Booth.

Booth yelled the exorcism as forcefully as he could. Smoke streamed out of the man, but there was no time to celebrate, because a demon was already on him, and it was all he could do to fight it off. His muscles burned. His fists ached. His knuckles bled. He was too old for this.

They were all there. This was the big one, the final battle. If they didn't win this it was the end of the world. And so Booth fought through the pain and kept going. And anyway, it looked like Hodgins had a broken arm. If he gave up before a guy with a broken arm, that was just embarrassing. Especially if that guy was Hodgins.

Hodgins and Angela were teaming up on the demon with the smallest host. They were yelling "Christo," over and over and Angela had somehow tied its hands behind its back and they were dragging it out of the melee, just to get out of the way.

Bones had her holy-water pistol out again, and was spraying it straight down the throat of the guy she had on the ground. He writhed and screamed and the demon flew out of the host's mouth. She dragged the body out of the way.

Numbers were falling. The battle was swinging back in their favour. Suddenly, it wasn't ten on three, as it had been when Booth had seen them earlier. It was six on six, and Booth nearly had his.

Castiel shoved his guy against the podium, snarling as he placed a hand to the host's forehead and killed the demon in a flash of white. He looked ferociously smug and turned to see who was next in line.

A woman with black eyes had Sweets pinned to an oak tree; a hand creeping up around the psychologist's throat, but Sweets was fighting valiantly. Booth saw red seeping through her jeans where Sweets had dragged his short blade across he leg. She faltered.

But Dean had two on him, and was already nursing bruised ribs from the day before. They weren't politely attacking one at a time. One was holding him still and the other was punching him, hard and methodical, and taunting him quietly. Booth couldn't hear what was being said, but from the look on Dean's face it was cruel. Dean's expression was hard and angry, and he was struggling and kicking the demon that held him, and he looked murderous.

Booth wanted to help, but the demon he was fighting chose that moment to punch him hard in the face, interrupting the flow of his exorcism. By the time the smoke disappeared into the ground, Sam was at his brother's side, blood dripping from a strangely engraved knife he grasped tightly in his right hand. He was breathing hard and his face was stony, his eyes dark and flashing. His hair had blown across his face in the fight and he hadn't bothered to put it back.

Everyone stopped and looked at Sam. Sam pulled the second demon off Dean and stabbed it hard, straight in the heart. No hesitation. No empathy. No compassion. Booth fought the urge to run. Grab Bones and run. Hide in an underground bunker somewhere and never come out.

The sprinklers spluttered and died. The water had been diverted to put out the fire.

One of the two remaining demons started to laugh. "You liked that didn't you, Sam? It's such a rush, feeling the knife pierce bone... and that blood... can you hear it calling, Sammy?"

Sam swallowed. His eyes were narrow and angry. He stepped towards her, the knife gripped tight in his bloodstained hand.

"Wait," Dean grabbed his brother's arm, "This is a trick. This is what they want you to do." He coughed and spat blood on the ground, but he stepped between his brother and the demon and stood squarely in Sam's way. "Remember what happened with Lilith? Sometimes killing them isn't worth the satisfaction."

"Feel that anger, Sammy. Listen to the blood singing in your veins. Smell that blood. You know you want a drink."

"Dean, get out of my way."

"No."

"I really want to kill him, Dean."

"Don't do it Sam. I mean I'm all for killing demons, but the more you do it, the better it feels, and that what they want. They're using that feeling to get you to go dark side, and we all know you're not really like that. Right?"

The question was put out to the squints in general, and for a moment it just hung there. The words caught in Booth's throat. He didn't know what Sam was really like. He'd only known him a few days, and in those few days Sam had tried to kill him and several of his friends.

Castiel stepped up, though. "We don't have time for this, Sam. Leave him alive."

"Well, that was helpful," Dean muttered.

But then Sweets pushed the female demon off him and walked over to stand beside Dean. "Sam," he said, "I find you very interesting. You have issues, certainly, but nothing that cannot be coped with. I can help you – even if you just need to talk. Any time. And I know you have lots of awesome stories and ideas. I've only known you a couple of days and I've never met anyone quite like you. We all want to get to know you, and it would be a huge waste if you gave up on us. Please don't do this."

Booth's brain jumped back into gear, and he stood beside Dean and Cas and Sweets. Bones followed, and finally Angela and Hodgins, holding hands.

Sam seemed to shrink, and his eyes brightened. He wiped the knife carefully on his shirt and handed it to his brother. He asked nervously: "Do you think I could maybe hang around the lab for a while? I've always been interested in forensics..."

Dean called him a geek in an affectionate older brotherly sort of way, and Booth could just see Angela squealing with delight on the inside at the sweetness of the moment. Although both brothers would obviously deny any sort of 'moment' until their deathbeds. Sweets smiled quietly to himself in that smug way he got when Booth or Bones admitted something private in one of their sessions.

"Isn't this sweet?" The demon that had been goading Sam interrupted.

Dean turned and drove him to the ground in a display of extreme violence that must have been hell on his ribs, and held him there as Cas did the white light thing.

Cas turned to the last demon, but smoke was already spewing from the vessel. The demon had done the smart thing and abandoned ship while it still could.

And then it was all over but the cleanup.


	39. Chapter 39

Sweets almost made it back to the car before the adrenalin wore off and a strange woozy feeling came over him.

When he woke up he was at home, lying on his bed.

"You fainted," Dr Brennan informed him helpfully.

He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. They were all there, somewhat dirty and bedraggled but nevertheless intact. Hodgins had his arm in a sling and everyone had various bruises and scrapes, but physically everyone seemed fine.

Psychologically, though... Sweets himself appeared to be the only one who had experienced an appropriate stress reaction to the situation. "Did anyone else faint? What about crying, vomiting or the shakes?"

No one had. It was a little embarrassing.

"We do this a lot," Dean told him calmly.

And that was so unbelievably screwed up that Sweets added it to his list of things to address in the therapy session Dean had promised to participate in.

"It's alright if you do. They're all perfectly natural, healthy responses to trauma. Stifling it can lead to much more serious concerns, such as anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder."

"Oh, I am so glad you said that," Angela exclaimed, "I am going to need so much therapy."

So did Sweets, but there was no-one qualified to give it to him.

They all got cleaned up and changed, and met in the kitchen to discuss their next move.

"We need an explanation for the FBI," Booth said. He'd changed out of his filthy, ripped suit and was wearing a towel and one of Sweets' t-shirts. It was much too small for him. Somehow it detracted from the seriousness of his statement.

"We usually just leave town," Sam said awkwardly. His sleeve was rolled up and there were stitches in his shoulder. He took a swig of whisky from a bottle that certainly hadn't come from Sweets' cupboard.

"You have to stay – we need to prepare in case this happens again," Hodgins told him.

That was when Castiel collapsed. Or not so much collapsed as swayed on his feet and started to sag.

"Cas!" Dean was at his side in an instant, holding him up. "What happened?"

He sounded so concerned Sweets had a fleeting moment of fear that the angel was dying.

"I am fine," Castiel claimed, leaning heavily on Dean.

"No, you're not." Dean sounded angry. He half-dragged his friend to the living room, where he let him fall to the sofa.

"I have simply overused my grace... I require a few moments rest."

"Is that blood? Are you bleeding?" Dean knelt beside his friend, pushing aside Castiel's trench coat and suit jacket. Red was soaking through his shirt.

"No," said Cas.

Dean pulled the shirt up. There was a deep cut on the angel's abdomen. "Can't you heal yourself?"

"Not at this time."

"Sam, go get the stuff," Dean ordered.

It turned out Sam already had it. He handed his brother the bottle of whisky, some gauze, and a sewing needle threaded with dental floss.

"That can't be hygienic," Sweets heard Dr Brennan whisper to Booth.

No-one else said anything, but they all looked horrified as they watched. They didn't interfere, though. It seemed inappropriate.

There was silence as Dean sewed Cas up. Even Cas didn't make a sound, just watched curiously.

It didn't occur to Sweets until later that Cas was faking it.

Booth and Brennan had gone to sort things out with the FBI. They'd sorted out a half-believable story about the satanic cult lacing the water with a barely detectable hallucinogen. Hopefully the FBI would be so eager for a non-demonic explanation for what had occurred that they wouldn't question it. Angela and Hodgins had gone to lace the turned-off sprinkler system with a barely detectable hallucinogen, just in case. Dean and Sam were outside, standing by the Impala. They were deep in discussion. It was just Sweets and Castiel in the living room.

"Can you fix him?" Castiel asked. He sat up, looking remarkably energetic for an injured man.

"Uh..." Sweets said dumbly.

"It is necessary. For the good of humanity." Castiel looked him straight in the eye.

"I can try to help him, but people can't just be fixed like... appliances... It won't happen overnight."

"You need to fix him," Cas insisted.

"Look, Cas, I- er – I think we need to talk about..." Sweets struggled to find the words.

"I do not require your expertise."

"I think we need to talk about your feelings for Dean."

Castiel glared at him. "My feelings for Dean do not concern you."

Therapy was always harder with an uncooperative client.

"You obviously care very deeply for him."

Castiel was silent.

"That's good. It's good to care about people. But sometimes you can take that too far and become too emotionally involved in someone and it those feelings can twist you so you do things you wouldn't otherwise do.

"I was mistaken in my belief you could help Dean. We will leave."

"Wait! I mean, it just seems like you kind of idealise him. And that stalking comment Sam made earlier... and Dean said something about you beating him up?"

"You have very limited knowledge of the universe."

"Why are you faking the injury?"

"I'm not."

"I know you could heal yourself if you wanted to. I saw you heal Dean after the fight."

"The act of bringing you here drained my batteries, so to speak."

"You seem fine now."

"I am tired. I don't want to go back 'upstairs' immediately. Does that satisfy you?"

Wow, this was bigger than he'd thought. Cas didn't want to go back to heaven! Why would an angel choose that? "Why not?"

Cas gave a tiny, sarcastic smile. "It's not as much fun as it sounds," he said.

"Less fun than fighting demonic schoolteachers who want to free the devil?"

"Yes."

Wow. Sweets had always thought of heaven as a place where it was impossible to feel anything other than happy. He had no real picture of what it would be like, just a vague idea of floating around as some kind of metaphysical form, feeling cheerful. This was disappointing.

"Why do you say that?"

"Things are... tense. There is a lot of infighting."

"Surely the infighting will be resolved at some point."

"I imagine it will become very boring, now that the adversary has been defeated."

Sweets had to take a moment to process that. He decided to move on for the moment.

"But why did you feel the need to fake an injury? Will you be punished if you don't go back now the crisis is over?"

"I am not faking," Cas lied, sitting up straighter.

"Or was so you could stay with Dean longer? My theory is that you didn't think he would want you to stay if you were capable of leaving, so you pretended to be hurt so he would take care of you.

"No," said Cas, very deliberately refusing to meet Sweets' eyes. He was not a very good liar.

"Manipulating someone into spending time with you is an abuse of trust, and bordering on obsessive behaviour."

"I no longer had a valid reason to remain with him. He only calls me when he needs my help."

"So you feel he doesn't reciprocate your feelings?"

Cas said nothing.

"You need to talk to him about this. If you keep these things to yourself, it's going to affect your views on everything and keep twisting them until you start doing things that are bad for both of you."

Sweets could only imagine the havoc an angel aching with unrequited love could wreak.

Cas collapsed back onto the couch, clasping his side. Sweets had a sudden moment of panic that he'd got it all wrong. He rushed to the angel's side.

"Cas? Are you OK?" Dean asked, crossing the room to the couch in quick steps. "Sweets, Sam wants to talk to you. He's in the kitchen."

Sweets turned to leave the living room. At the door, he turned back and looked. Dean was kneeling at his friend's side, examining the cut. Cas looked straight at Sweets and gave a tiny, sneaky smile.

XXX


	40. Chapter 40

Sam was waiting for Sweets in the kitchen, dwarfing the second-hand dining chair he'd chosen to sit on. He was scrubbed clean, his hair fluffy from recent washing.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," Sweets replied.

There was a pause. Interaction with someone who'd kidnapped and threatened to kill you in the not-so-distant past was a lot more awkward when you didn't have a demon uprising on your hands. Despite having seen the good intentions that drove Sam over the last few days, Sweets couldn't deny the anxiety that Sam evoked in him.

"Did you want to talk to me?" Sweets asked.

"Yeah," said Sam, looking down at the table guiltily. "Look, I really wanted to, uh, apologise to you. You know, for the whole... kidnapping thing..."

Sweets nodded, waiting.

"And all the other stuff, too, but mostly the kidnapping. The thing is, I want to think it was because of Lucifer and the demon blood, but I'm not totally sure that's all it was. I know that the-" Sam paused, swallowing, "-cage did something to me, made me a bit unstable..."

_Understatement,_ Sweets thought.

_"_But part of it was just me. I was so angry, and I wanted so badly to protect Dean that I did something unforgivable, and I'm really, really sorry for that."

Sweets chose his words carefully: "Thank you for the apology. Acknowledging something is wrong is the first step in overcoming your problems. It doesn't make it okay, though."

Sam nodded. "I know. I can never make what I did okay, but I was thinking, maybe, if it was okay with you, I could stick around for a while and maybe talk to you about things a few times. If you're uncomfortable with it I'll leave, but there's really no-one I can talk with honestly about my life... no-one professional anyway. Not without being locked up, that is, and you saw how well being locked up worked for me –"

Sam paused for breath. Sweets held up a hand, stopping Sam before he could continue. He was faintly aware he was being subtly manipulated into accepting Sam's request. Sam was a smart man, and knew just how to play on people's emotions to get them to do what he wanted. Sweets wasn't even sure he was aware he was doing it. But despite this, he realised what Sam was saying was true – seeing someone else would never work, and Sam was dangerous as he was now, with his mental state so unstable. He needed help before he hurt someone else, and Sweets was the only one who could give it.

"You want me to give you therapy?"

"Essentially, yes."

"You realise this isn't a quick fix? Sometimes therapy can be very painful."

"I know. I have to do this, though. I can't go on like I am now. I nearly destroyed the world, and it'll happen again. I can stay in Washington for a while, teach you guys some stuff about keeping safe, and maybe have therapy a couple of times a week?"

And so Sweets became Sam Winchester's therapist, and Sam became the consultant on the supernatural for the Jeffersonian institute.

"Wait," said Sam as Sweets turned to leave. "Could you maybe try talking to Dean? He's leaving soon. We decided you were right – we need some time apart. I mean, still in contact, but not living together. So he's leaving. But he's really messed up. Like _really_ messed up. Like so messed up he doesn't even realise it's not normal."

XXX

Dean and Cas were sitting silently on the sofa when Sweets went back into the living room.

"Oh good, you're both here," Sweets said.

"I have to go into the kitchen," said Castiel, rising suspiciously quickly for someone so gravely wounded.

"Wait, Cas." Dean reached for his friend, but Cas was already halfway across the room. "Well, that wasn't obvious at all," he commented.

"So how are you?" Sweets asked.

"Fine. I should really be asking you that, you're the one that fainted."

"It was a natural stress reaction." Sweets said defensively.

Dean smirked at him.

"Dean, you have some serious issues we need to discuss." Sweet dragged an armchair over to the sofa and sat down opposite Dean.

"I would love to stay and whine about my father to you, but I should really go help with the clean up." Dean rose. The smirk stayed firmly in place, but the adrenalin from the fight was gone and the tired, sad look was back in his eyes.

"Dean," Sweets said firmly. He'd never been much good at this bit- getting people to stay when they didn't want to talk. Booth and Brennan almost always got away from him. They usually worked it out between themselves or came back later of their own volition, though. Dean was not going to do that. It was too ingrained in him not too show weakness, and what he'd been through was too painful for him to talk about. "These things are not going to go away."

Dean started walking away.

"You had a nightmare so bad you elbowed me in the ribs and left a bruise. You were practically catatonic after that demon at the preschool said something about this being your fault. You said you hadn't had a good night's sleep in forty-three years. This is dangerous. You need to talk to someone about this."

Dean didn't even acknowledge that he'd spoken. Sweets followed him towards the hallway.

"Cas is faking his injury."

Dean pulled up sharply. Sweets almost walked into his back.

"No he's not."

"He is. He told me so."

Dean swung around to face Sweets. "He's not faking. He wouldn't do that."

"He needed an excuse to stay with you, so he pretended to be hurt."

"Why would he need an excuse?"

"You two _need_ to talk about this. I think partly it was to make you stay here and talk to me."

"Oh, we're going to talk about this alright." Dean stormed back across the living room towards the kitchen.

_Crap._ Sweets was going to have to do something now, or he'd be replacing all his crockery.

"He's worried about you and he doesn't know how to tell you. And he's right to be worried."

"I'm fine. What's wrong with you people?" Dean glared at Sweets. Sweets suddenly realised that Dean was a lot bigger than him.

"Dean, will you please just talk to him?" Sweets had been half-expecting Castiel to appear and forcibly hold Dean still while Sweets tried to get him to talk, but instead it was Sam who stood in the kitchen doorway. He gazed imploringly at his brother. "You agreed, remember. You agreed to talk to him if I did."

Dean deflated. "Fine," he sighed, and sat down again on the sofa.

` Sweets made a mental note to get Sam to ask next time he needed Dean to do something.

"I think I'll go for a walk," Sam said, and left Sweets alone with his brother. Sweets was pretty sure what he meant was '_I think I'll go lurk by the front door for a few minutes so it doesn't look like I'm eavesdropping'_, but Sweets appreciated the gesture.

"So how does this work?" Dean asked. "Are you going to do that word-association thing you did with Sam, or just sit there while I moan about how sucky my life is, or what?"

Now that Sweets had actually got Dean to talk to him, he wasn't really sure where to start. He hadn't actually anticipated Dean agreeing to therapy. "How about we start with the most immediate things? How have you been feeling? And don't say fine, I know you're lying."

"It's better now. Sam's alive."

"How did you feel when you thought he was dead?"

"Look, man, I know you're just trying to help, but I really... I don't want to talk about this..." Dean looked down, his face deliberately blank.

"Sadness? Anxiety? Anger?"

"Tired," said Dean.

"What do you mean by tired?"

"Really tired. I've been tired a long time. But this was... just exhausted and sad, and too tired even to be angry. I want to sleep but I can't."

"Did you ever have any suicidal thoughts?"

Dean just looked at him like he was stupid.

"Sam dying, it was like pulling the bottom block out of a tower. And knowing where he was..." Dean's voice cracked. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why don't you tell me why Sam is so important to you? From what I've observed, you have a very co-dependent relationship with him."

"Sam's my brother."

"Lots of people have brothers, Dean. Not many sell their souls for them."

"He's my little brother. I'm responsible for him. He's my best friend, and before Cas he was my _only_ friend. I raised him. I mean, I always said Dad did, but really it was me. Imagine losing your brother, your best friend and your child all at once. But I should have let him die. I should have let him die the first time. At least he wouldn't have gone to hell."

"I'd like you to tell me a little about hell, if you can. I can see how strongly it affects you."

"No you don't," Dean said, looking straight into Sweets' eyes. "There are no words. None."

"I know you've been having nightmares and insomnia. Have you experienced any flashbacks? Hallucinations? Anxiety attacks?"

Dean nodded. "Not so much anymore. Mostly about the cemetery now."

"Have you noticed anything in particular that triggers them?"

"Dogs. Mirrors. Sometimes enclosed spaces, especially if it's dark. Creepy pictures. Shiny things. Crowds. Too much noise. Too hot, too cold... I had one when I was burning a body once..."

"And what do you do if you have one of these attacks?"

"Drink, mostly."

"You're displaying symptoms of both Post-traumatic stress disorder and major depressive disorder. What we need to do is come up with some ways of dealing with these symptoms when they come up," Sweets said gently. Don't push, but don't avoid the subject.

"I'm not sick," Dean insisted, "I function."

"Dean, if you don't try to control these symptoms, they will continue to control your life, and you'll always be miserable."

"I should be. I deserve it." Dean stood up and left the room, his face once more impassive.

Sweets needed a plan.

XXXX


	41. Chapter 41

Booth and Brennan's meeting with the FBI went surprisingly well. Booth kept as close to the truth as he could without mentioning angels and demons or incriminating anyone. He told his boss it was a battle between rival extremist religious groups who were responding to the apparent apocalyptic signs of a few months ago. His boss bought it; mostly, Booth thought, because his head would explode if he delved too deeply into the events of the past week. Booth helped with the processing of those of the rioters who had been arrested, and then left with orders to filter the hallucinogen from the school's water supply and to recapture the Winchester brothers. He called Angela and Hodgins to set up the appearance of filtering the water, and made a mental note to warn the Winchesters that the FBI was still after them.

He drove Bones back to her apartment afterwards and followed her upstairs. A sudden wave of nervousness washed over him. What if she took back the declaration she had made last night? What if it had just been the prospect of hell on earth talking?

He needn't have worried, though. He'd hardly sat down when she said, "I meant it. What I said. Things need to change."

Booth wrapped his arms around her and held her for a long time. It had been a long time coming.

They had a quiet lunch.

"So will you be bringing the angels into your book now?"

Bones snorted. "I fail to see why you are so enamoured with religion. This whole week, we saw one angel, and he burned out eyes of hundreds of people. I saw no proof of their absolute righteousness or of God's existence."

"We prevented the rise of Satan last night! You saw the pain and suffering his followers caused, and you're still in doubt about the righteousness of those fighting him?" Booth asked exasperatedly.

"You aren't listening to me, Booth! I'm not saying Satan is good, I'm just saying that if the angels really wanted to save humanity they would have sent help. We only had one angel on our side, and I'm pretty sure he was just helping because of Dean! And if God existed, wouldn't he have made an appearance? Or at least sent back-up, or a sign. I believe in angels because I have proof. You can't expect me to believe in God without any."

"You know what, Bones? If we're going to be together, you're going to have to be a little more accepting of things you have no proof of. How can we trust each other if you can never take anything on faith?"

_Great._ They'd only been together one night, and they were already fighting. _No, not fighting,_ he reminded himself. _Having a heated discussion._

"I love you, Booth, and I want to be with you. But that doesn't mean I'm going to accept something as the truth simply because you believe it. You have been known to be wrong, you know."

And there it was – even while they were _discussing _something and he was almost blind with annoyance at her, hearing her say those three words made him want to jump around and pump his fists and whoop.

"Maybe we should just talk about this later. We should really go and see how everyone's getting on."

XXX

They drove back out to Sweets' house with Foreigner playing in the car.

When they arrived, Sweets answered the door wearing the strained, tense look Booth had seen on him after various sessions with the Winchesters that week.

"Problems?" Booth asked, glancing across the living room at Sam. Sam looked perfectly normal. His eyes were hazel and his muscles were almost relaxed. He wore an expression of mild concern.

Booth looked around for other sources of tension. Angela and Hodgins were sitting together on the sofa, looking... well, looking like they had when they were still engaged. Not them, then. Castiel was standing by the window, gazing out and looking significantly less injured than he had before Booth and Brennan had left. Booth put him down as a maybe.

"Where's Dean?" Bones asked.

"He is not responding well to therapy." Castiel did not move from his spot at the window.

Ah. Dean didn't seem like the type who would respond well to therapy.

"He locked himself in my bedroom," Sweets said.

"Maybe he doesn't need therapy. I don't understand this constant need you all have to talk about feelings," Bones suggested.

"I agree," Castiel growled.

That was a 180 – all week Castiel had been practically forcing Sweets to help Dean and now he was against therapy?

"I think we need to continue our discussion now, Cas," Sweets beckoned the angel over to the kitchen door.

"My name is Castiel. And I do not require your services."

_Oh._

"Sam can come too. I need your input to help Dean."

Sam unfolded himself from his chair. "Come on, Cas. Let's just do this."

They disappeared into the kitchen, Cas following somewhat reluctant.

"What happened?" Booth asked when he and Bones were alone with Angela and Hodgins.

"What happened with you two?" Angela asked, with that excited smile that said she already knew.

Bones took Booth's hand. "We are together now. What happened when we were gone?"

When all the squealing and hugging (Angela) and handshaking (Hodgins) was over, Angela told them.

"We only got back after it was over, but Sam said that Dean couldn't handle the things Sweets wanted him to talk about, and shut himself away. Sam thinks he just needs to be alone for a while and he'll be fine. But Sweets also totally called Castiel on faking his injury to stay with Dean and he's trying to get Cas to tell Dean how he feels. Castiel doesn't appreciate it."

There was a quiet cough behind them. Booth turned to see Dean standing there, looking crumpled, red-eyed and annoyed.

There was a moment of silence. "Hi Dean," Angela squeaked.

Dean said nothing and went outside. Booth held out from following Angela and Hodgins to the window for almost a minute.

Outside, Dean had the hood of the Impala up and was doing something to the engine. Booth knew for a fact that the car was in perfect working order – he'd helped with her tune up two days ago. But there was a kind of coiled tension in Dean that made Booth decide not to address him about it.

"Oh crap, is he working on the car?" Sam asked, coming up behind them.

"Is that bad?" Sweets asked, following Sam to the window.

Booth really hoped Dean wouldn't look up and see everyone watching him.

"You should have seen him when Dad died. He went all quiet and scary and worked on the car."

"Ok, I'm going to talk to him," Sweets announced bravely.

"Do you want me to come?" Sam asked.

"No, that's fine," Sweets said determinedly.

"Dude, are you sure? He's got a wrench."

They turned back to the window and froze, because Daisy's car had just pulled up and she was walking over to Dean, a friendly smile on her face.

"You know what, maybe you should come," Sweets said to Sam, before he turned to go outside.

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	42. Chapter 42

Sweets approached cautiously, for once glad to have Sam Winchester looming behind him. Dean was leaning inside the hood of his car, pretending to work on something. Daisy was chattering away cheerfully, oblivious to his expression of barely contained fury and his knuckles turning white around the wrench. Sweets didn't think Dean would actually hurt her, but he thought her car might be in trouble.

"Hi guys," Sweets said, putting on his calmest therapist voice, "is everything okay here?"

"Oh, we're fine. I was just telling Dean about how the lab is nearly back to working order. Dr Brennan's going to be so happy when she sees the new examination table. Probably not as happy as she would have been if Dean hadn't burnt that evidence in the first place, but still... I thought he might like a tour."

Dean glared at the hood of his car, and looked like he couldn't think of anything he wanted to do less than go on a tour of the lab with Daisy.

"Are you sure you're okay, Dean?" Sam asked, breaking in over Daisy. "You're kind of rocking the crazy eyes."

Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to bring Sam after all. Sweets would have to talk to him about tact in one of his sessions. He knew Sam could be tactful when he wanted. Apparently he hadn't learnt to employ it where his brother was concerned.

Dean looked at his brother. "What crazy eyes?"

"You know, like before you smashed up the impala with the crowbar."

Dean looked away again. "You saw that, huh?"

Daisy finally noticed Dean's grip on the wrench and took a step back, and then another. Sweets thought she might be trying to escape without Dean noticing.

"Don't worry; I'm not going to smash anything."

"Maybe you should," Sam suggested.

Much as Sweets hated to admit it, it was kind of a good idea. "You know what? Why don't you guys stay here, and Daisy and I will go find something for you to smash." He pulled Daisy away.

"There's always your car," Sam said to him, "It's already been on fire."

It took Sweets a moment to realised Sam was joking. Probably.

They enlisted the help of the others to find things to smash.

"I've got an old car at home," Hodgins said. "Is this just for Dean or can I join in?"

Actually, Sweets wouldn't mind smashing something himself. "Maybe if we wait until after Dean's finished," he said.

They drove to Hodgins' mansion in convoy. It took far longer than usual because of all the broken traffic lights, remnants of accidents, and general disorder, but they made it at last. Hodgins led Dean around the back of the gigantic garage and left him there with a crowbar. Soon the sound of metal smashing violently on metal rang across the grounds. It kept going for a surprisingly long time.

Sweets decided it was probably a good time to talk to Cas again.

Castiel glared at him as he approached, but Sweets tried not to let it bother him. Usually it was the people who wanted help the least who needed it the most.

"How are you doing?" Sweets asked.

"I would like the next turn with the crowbar."

"Is your wound hurting? Do you need anything for it?"

"No."

Sweets dug for something else to say. A way to ease into discussion Castiel's obvious control issues. Direct discussion of Castiel's feelings for Dean had obviously been a disaster, but there were many, many other related issues they could work on.

And then Cas said, "Thank you. This is helping him."

"Smashing things doesn't resolve the underlying issues, but it will serve as a stress-release mechanism."

"Much in the way that involvement in the heavy metal scene helped you."

Castiel was looking at him with a gaze he'd only seen levelled at Dean. It was more than just a stare; it was like Cas was looking inside him. It made him very uncomfortable knowing that the angel had only to look at him to know his innermost secrets. Sweets felt very small all of a sudden, rather like a small child who'd just found out that the pretty coloured ball he'd just been rolling around the room was actually a dragon egg.

"You have good intentions, Dr Sweets. It is a pity you misinterpret so much."

Sam came over then. "Sweets? I think Dean's finished. Maybe you should go talk to him. See if you can get him to talk to you now he's let some of it out."

Sweets listened. Sure enough, the smashing from behind the garage had stopped. As he walked towards the now silent site of the old car, he couldn't shake the feeling that Sam was trying to get rid of him. He looked back just before he turned the corner, and saw Sam and Cas with their heads together, quietly discussing something.

Dean was sitting on the ground with his knees up, leaning against one wheel of an old VW, now significantly more battered than it had been. He was drenched in sweat, and the crowbar lay on the ground beside his hand.

He looked up. "Hey Sweets."

"Feeling better?"

"You should have a go."

"Maybe later. Are you ready to talk?"

Dean sighed. "Look, I know you're only trying to help, and I appreciate it, but this whole talking about your feelings thing has just never worked for me. It pretty much just makes stuff worse."

"I know you feel that way now, but these things take time. A lot of it's about working out why you are feeling the way you are."

"I'm pretty sure it's because nothing good ever happens to me. Or if it does it doesn't last."

"This is good, you're talking about it."

"You're a good kid Sweets. And that's why I can't tell you about most of this stuff. You'll never see the world the same. You think this past week has been bad? That's nothing. There are things you can't even imagine, and I'm not going to put them on you."

"Can you talk to someone about it? Maybe Sam or Cas?"

Dean nodded slowly. "I'll think about it."

"And I'll give you some behavioural exercises to help you sleep."

"That would be good. So who's next for car smashing?"

"Cas," Sweets told him, and that brought a smile to Dean's face.

"There'll be nothing left."

When everyone had had their turn, and the car was a pile of crumpled, ripped metal, they went up to the house for coffee.

The coffee was fantastic. Hodgins could afford the good stuff. Brennan and Booth made their official announcement that they were a couple, even though everyone knew already. There was a round of congratulations and some suspiciously flirtatious looks between Hodgins and Angela. Dean and Cas avoided each other's eyes.

Finally, Angela said, "Okay, that's it. You guys need to talk. You are so cute together and obviously have feelings for each other. Come with me."

To Sweets' surprise, they followed her. He supposed they'd figured out there was no stopping Angela once she decided something.

Angela flounced back a moment later. "I shut them in the spare room. They aren't allowed out until they talk. Or..."

From the corner of his eye, Sweets thought he saw Sam smirking.

A moment later, raised voices came from the room.

They all huddled closer, not even pretending not to be listening at the door.

"You just disappear –"

"You never want me here except to help – "

"How do you know, you never stay to find out – "

"I have a job to do!"

"So do I!"

"That's not what you said to that woman in Alabama!"

"Seriously, Cas? Are you jealous? That was a year and a half ago!"

"I am not jealous!"

"You're acting jealous."

The room was suddenly silent.

"Oh wow," whispered Angela.

"How did I miss this? I thought they were just friends?" Daisy put in.

Sam was definitely smirking.

The room was still silent.

They waited.

Silence.

More silence.

"Oh, crap," said Sweets.

Hodgins opened the door a crack. No sound came out. He opened it further. The room was empty. The curtain fluttered in the breeze from the open window. A note sat in the centre of the bed. It was in blue ballpoint on a sheet torn from a notebook, and it said:

GONE TO GRAND CANYON. SEE YOU NEXT TIME.

When they walked out the front, the Impala was gone, and Booth and Bones were arguing about whether they had used angel transport or simply climbed out the window.

"I think we should arrange a new time for the two of you to meet with me," Sweets said.

**The End**

**Well, there's a year of my life gone. What should the next crossover be? I'm considering White Collar or Castle.**


End file.
